Wendy Paine Miller ~ thoughts that move

Ransacking Apartments (& Others Ways to Get to Know Your MC Better)

2012-02-01T04:12:00.000-08:00

Can you say unconventional? That’s what I’m going with today as I offer insight on how to get better acquainted with your MC. Most of us novelists lead parallel lives, don’t we? Reality and that imaginary playground constantly entertaining our brain. We’ve become adept listeners during our conversations because half the time we’re acquiring snippets for our next scene.

Run with this as I propose eight methods to try to get closer to your MC. Understand, we regularly enter a make-believe realm that most non-writers couldn’t dream of conceptualizing. With this in mind, here are a few helpful hints on how to knock down the doors in order to come face to face with the one person in your novels you need to know best…

Ransack her apartment
An individual’s living space is a breeding ground for discovery. Does she have a green thumb or is she plant less because she’s afraid she’ll kill them all? Are her books alphabetized? Hospital corners? Pet hair everywhere? Curtains drawn or open? The possibilities are endless, if you’re only willing to break in and search her terrain.

Read her diary
I know, I know, a major no no for a parent. But we aren’t parents of our characters (well, not really). It only serves the novel more effectively if we spend time contemplating the inner life of our MC, wondering about her motives and goals. People write about their secret hopes and dreams. Where? In journals or diaries. So, have a crack (tackle a free write) and see what comes out.

Ask her mom about her
As if inventing a MC isn’t enough to make us certifiably on the cusp of crazy, now I’m asking you to go ahead and stick a mom (who doesn’t even show up in your novel) on your MC’s family tree. Go ahead. Moms change our diapers, know exactly how we’ll handle embarrassment or fear, they even know the exact locations of our birthmarks. So if your MC isn’t budging with private details, go to the source. Her mama!

Watch her cook dinner
Does she burn it? What kinds of pans does she own? If anything falls is it fair game for the dog to lick up? Is she alone? Does she talk on the phone when she cooks so she’ll feel less alone? Does she still set the table for two even though her husband died three years ago?

Eavesdrop on her phone conversation
I always used to study my oldest sister while she was on the phone. She wrapped our curly phone cord around her leg dozens of times when she was speaking with a boyfriend. Her voice shot up to a playground pitch when she was talking with her girlfriends. And I won’t even mention her hand gestures. I’m convinced I got to know her better by watching her on the phone. Try it with someone in real life. Then try it with your MC.

Make her take a swimming lesson
Ever seen Sleeping with the Enemy? That movie was the epitome of a woman’s reaction to water revealing a boatload about her character.

Send her on vacation
Where does she choose to go? Hiking in the mountains or an island with white sand and exotic birds? Does she bring anyone? How many days does she stay? And of course, how many shoes does she pack?

Put her on a tight budget
When she treats herself what does she buy? Her purchases say a lot about what’s important to her. Does she track her spending or go on frivolous shopping sprees?

I told you…unconventional. But it’s all part of creatively developing a story—establishing a firm grasp on the ins and outs of your MC. Questions like what’s her favorite color won’t always cut it when you’re aiming to get right to her heart.

Sometimes the best ways to the heart are the unexpected routes. What do you do when your main character is being inhibited?

*I referred to the MC mostly as her because I write women’s fiction
**recently got wind not all comments are showing up. I apologize if you’ve left one and it’s slipped into cyberspace. I’m checking on things and I’ve put Blogger on the naughty step. Hoping it will be back to play nice soon.
***photo by flickr

What I Learned from Mr. Miyagi

2012-01-30T03:53:00.000-08:00

For the next few Mondays I’m going back to the future. Not really. It’s a play on words. Soon it will all make sense to you. (If you could see me now I’m performing the Star Wars hand swipe the Jedi are famous for.)

What we see has immeasurable potential to root into our souls and sprout inside us, contributing to the people we become.

And this all happens discreetly. Life osmosis. Without a doubt, our 100 billion neurons and quadrillion synapses are invisibly tunneling images inside our minds at any given moment.

Enough math. Now onto my point. I watched the original Karate Kid when I was nine. Do I remember the movie well? Not so much. I recall bonsai trees, those funky leg kicks I had a blast trying to imitate, of course a little wax on, wax off, and a handful of other details about the film.

But here’s what stayed with me (at the core): Mr. Miyagi. When he taught Daniel he was teaching me. I was paying attention. From the wise karate instructor I understood the value of patience. I gleaned how imperative it is to work hard at something if you want to achieve success. Images of Daniel on the beach as the sun rose and set come to mind. Creative lessons plans (say it with me: wax on, wax off).

Know what else the man with the bonsai beard and bandana headband that made all bandana headbands cool (sorry Boss) taught me?

The power of transference (the good kind). Mr. Miyagi impressed upon me how incredibly primed we are to pass on our knowledge the minute we stand firm in that knowledge. It’s one thing to live a respected life, working hard, and daily tapping into an ocean of wisdom as we discern our way through the this maze called life. It’s quite another to willingly splash some of that water on another with the hope and intention to help.

Can you think of an example of something you saw in your youth that is contributing to the person you are now?

Some teasers on what’s to come: What I Learned from The Wonder Years & What I Learned from The Golden Girls.

*photo by flickr
**fascinating related article (also ties in with one of my novels)
***All "I"s here today!

Moving Thoughts Friday

2012-01-27T04:03:00.000-08:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Do it all over again or Not on your life?

*photos by flickr

Where You’ll Find Me

2012-01-25T04:12:00.001-08:00

Okay, so I’m not somewhere over the rainbow right now. Maybe someday. But until that day, I have found a few other hotspots online and I want you to know where to go when you’re looking to have your brain poked, or when you need a hearty belly laugh, or if you just feel like interacting with me.

Some of my favorite online haunts:

Twitter

Facebook

Facebook writer page

email me @ millerct1{at}cox{dot}net

Goodreads

& now I'm on Pinterest (look out!). wendypmiller

here at my main blog

& your blog…

(I love to comment…if I’ve been eerily absent from your space, your blog, your site, etc., shoot me a message and I’ll make an honest effort to come connect.)

I’m due for a hearty laugh, so if you know how to make that happen, reach out on any of the above sites!

*Raela Schoenherr posted some additional online sites for writers on Twitter yesterday. Check them out!

Moving Thoughts Friday

2012-01-20T04:03:00.000-08:00

No question today.

Just wanted to give you a heads up that I might be kind of sporadic and a little scarce online over the next few weeks.

I have some pressing things to tend to at home.

Oh wait, here’s a question…

Finish this: When it’s all said and done…

*photo by flickr

Eight Things to Consider When Seeking to Understand

2012-01-18T04:04:00.000-08:00

If you’ve been talking as long as I have, then you know that it isn’t always easy. Disputes can readily erupt from a misguided interpretation of a hippo yawn. Words have the ability to bend and mutate so they come out sounding entirely different than the speaking party intended.

So what’s a human to do? As always, think before we speak. And we’re wise to think about the following eight considerations when engaging in conversation and truly seeking to understand.

What are they trying to communicate?
Words might be misfiring, emotions shooting off like flares, and facial expressions could very well pass for a remarkable imitation of Jim Carey in all his impersonating glory, but it helps to ask ourselves what could possibly be the heart of the message the other party is communicating. (Wow, that was a mother long sentence.)

What is going on in their life that might affect the way their conversing?
Period anyone? Ever feel like elephants were raining on your head. All. Day. Long. And then you’re thrown into a necessary, but hypersensitive convo with oh, say your spouse. You’re already so on edge it would take less than the brush of a feather to make you crumble like Lot’s wife. Raining elephant days are something to consider when diving into the deep stuff.

What are they not saying and does it matter?
Body language. Long silences. Completely distracted by a football game. I’ve learned the hard way not to bring up a sensitive topic when there are less than four minutes remaining. Of any game at any time during any season.

Are they arguing because they feel put on the defensive?
We demonstrate discretion and introspection when we take a step back from the heat to evaluate if the manner in which we presented our thoughts potentially put the other party on the front burner.

Is this a sensitive topic for them?
We might not have a particular opinion about Tim Tebow. Hypothetically, we might not have understood the firestorm surrounding who to us has always been “just a football player”. Issues have layers. If we happen to know that bringing up the rotting green pepper incident strikes a chord with such and such, we might want to couch our words with extra care.

How many times have you discussed this topic?
Is it getting old as a rotting green pepper? Have you talked the bad boy to death? Humans can only tolerate merry-go-round topics so much. We need to feel like we’re getting somewhere, like there’s hope and a potential solution or resolve. You know what they say about the definition of insanity? So if the issue must surface, I say bring it up Loch Ness monster style and do it with a song and dance. In other words, try something new.

Take assumption out of the equation.
Resist assuming what every little eye roll might mean. Maybe there really is one fat dangling wooden plank in their eye (ha!) or perhaps there’s a lightshow of falling stars up to the left. It’s worth it to remind ourselves to assume nothing. Because you know what assuming does to U and Me.

Be specific.

Ask for what you want. As much as we like to pretend we are, none of us are adept mind readers. As Johnny (date every woman in Hollywood) Mayer would say, “Say what you need to say.”

Any other things to consider whilst in the midst of a tête-à-tête (oh so fun to write)?

*photo = me modeling this behavior with my sister’s dog, Cael. :D

Free

2012-01-16T04:54:00.000-08:00

Boat wake. Loud singing. Prayer vigils. Brain-churning speeches. Long walks. Private talks. Nature trails. Kite tails. Raucous laughter. Waving flags. Protests and Support Parades. Celebrations pushing into dawn. Driving with the windows down. Books with characters vastly unlike me. Engaging in a rowdy debate. Worship in my home. Worship in a church. Worship anywhere I feel like it. Smiling at an interracial couple holding hands. Locking in my vote. Voicing my thoughts. Having a voice. Fighting for the rights of others. Righteous anger. Caring. Letting the Bible light me up inside. Respectful disagreements. Encouraging. Concert lights. Walking away from a fight. An African American choir. Music pulsing through my veins. Choices. Letting go. High fives. Birds against a milky backdrop of snow. Everywhere and nowhere to go. Planning. Hope. Tomorrow full of breath. Heaven waiting. No fear in death. Truth.
Truth.
Truth.

What makes you feel free?

Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we are free at last!
Thanks MLK Jr.!

*On a private note, I’d like to express my gratitude for honorable & dedicated law enforcement!

**photo by flickr

Moving Thoughts Friday

2012-01-13T04:17:00.000-08:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Take it or leave it?

*photos by flickr

Weathering the Winter Grays

2012-01-11T04:07:00.000-08:00

This time of year the doldrums try mighty hard to breeze through the door with the chilly weather. I’m not one to just step back and take the icy gusts in the face. Nope, I’ve learned how to be proactive and resourceful so winter doesn’t have its way with me.

Eight methods of weathering the winter grays:

Savor
Every single day, carve out time to savor something. Appreciate the funny way your son’s hair sticks up in the morning. Get closer to that spider web frost on your windshield. See just how enormous and orange the moon can get.

Reflect
Think back to how far you’ve come and all the ways you’ve grown. Celebrate how you’ve changed for the better.

Breathe
When stress hits like a bird on a glass window (poor bird), take a moment to slow your breathing. Focus as you might during childbirth. You’re birthing a calmer you.

Exit
Go outside. Yes, even in the cold. Being cooped up can shrink the senses and cramp creative mind flow. Toss a ball to your dog. Go for a walk. Sled your heart out.

Create
Do something differently. Make something. Take on a small project. Paint a room. Glue a mosaic. Allow your vision to be electrified and inspired. Don’t settle for the sameness of things.

Sleep
Commit to going to bed one hour earlier one night a week. Rest is good. See if it helps.

Silence
Make quiet those negative voices in your head. Replace them with positive affirmations. Church Lady it on yourself (retro SNL, anyone?). Laugh while you’re at it. And vlog the entire experience. I could use a good laugh, too.

Plan
A summer vacation. A party. A night out with your spouse. Plan something—anything. Get excited about an event. Create a moment to look forward to. And in the meantime, make your now proud.

What do you do to ward off and chase the grays away?

*photo by flickr

The Phantom in my Novels

2012-01-09T04:05:00.001-08:00

If you’re a novelist, you have a phantom that creeps across your pages, a shadowy menace working hard to remain anonymous and undetected.

He stalls your work, keeping it from all it’s meant to be. And your phantom happens to like changing capes. (If he’s anything like mine.) So he shows up in disguise, lurking, chameleon-like with a tenacious bent toward flubbing your work.

Time to name the different disguises the phantom likes best:
~

The Frasier
Forced and flowery prose. Longwinded diatribes. Desperate to come across sounding erudite, the phantom likes to imitate Frasier. And while he’s at it, he’s good at distracting the reader from what’s really going on.

The Rambler
Frasier’s cousin. Purposeless dialogue bumping up against purposeless dialogue. The Rambler is bound to get our books slammed closed.

The Offroader
I often enjoy discovering a story within a story within a story. It’s like a Chinese nesting doll reading experience. But being entirely offroaded while reading a novel isn’t quite as fun. When I’m taken out of the story for no reason and plopped into another story, I can bet the phantom is hiding in the pages. He’s struck again, only I’m so offroaded I have a difficult time finding traces of him.

The Yawn Maker
You know how Mentos is the freshmaker, right? Well, our slippery phantom likes to be the yawn maker. He throws on a beige cape (poor beige, it’s always gotten a bad rap) and has our characters act like patients, always waiting, stuck in the purgatory of a boring doctor’s office. Excitement, escalating conflict, and action are nowhere to be found.

The Clogged Drain
Wearing a slightly different color cape than his Yawn Maker one, our phantom stalls action in our scenes. He slows everything down to a Sunday driver pace and causes readers to lose focus and any investment in the plot. Because good ol’ phantom is stuffing Styrofoam in the scenes you want to read fluidly.

The Light Dimmer
Sneaky phantom steals the power from setting when he plays his light dimmer role. He throws the entire scene on mute and thwarts it from living up to its potential by making the setting mundane, commonplace, and unimportant.

The Mary Poppins
Remember when Mary jumps into the sidewalk chalk drawings and the new fairy tale world is one big tribute to her? Phantom loves when we do this with our novels. He encourages us to let our own emotionally experience blend into our work so much that our MCs act in uncharacteristic ways. Why uncharacteristic? Because they’re acting like us and not them. A surefire phantom stamp.

Isn’t this one big beautiful example of displacement? Not fun to admit we make these mistakes readily in our novels, so go ahead, just blame it on that nasty phantom. Makes me rethink the term ghostwriting. ;)

Can you think of any other disguises our phantom wears in effort to weaken our novels?

*photo by flickr
**All “I”s are on somebody. Check out who (in a bit) here.

Moving Thoughts Friday

2012-01-06T04:18:00.000-08:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Did you ever wish you were a twin or that you gave birth to twins? Are you a twin or do you have twins? If so, please shed light on your experience.

*photos by flickr

How My Birth Order Prepared Me for a Career in Publishing

2012-01-04T04:11:00.000-08:00

It’s I 8 Wednesday. Today I’m unraveling 8 reasons why being the youngest prepared me for publication. Birth order central served up with a platter of eight nuggets for you this fine Wednesday. I’m channeling Kevin Leman by digging into my cornucopia knowledge of birth order to detail how being the baby set me up for industry ingenuity.

Yoo Hoo
I’m the youngest of four girls. Feelin’ for my dad now, aren’t you? (Sounding a little Irish now, aren’t I?) As the youngest, I had to brainstorm creative strategies in order to garner attention. I won’t even mention the time my older sister shined as one of three golden angels in the Christmas pageant while I dimly stood as one of twenty silver angels. I won’t even mention how I “fell” off the stage close to a dozen times. Yes, I was a weird kid. I’ve never denied this. But it was a pretty clever way to snare some attention, too, eh? Gives new meaning to fallen angel (ba dum dum).

In the writing industry I’m challenged to conjure up similar creativity when it comes to marketing, though now I do it without the drama or woe is me silver angel mentality.

Practicing Patience…Waiting for My Turn
Whether it was trailing behind as my sisters made a beeline to the bathroom, watching my sisters talk for hours on the phone with boyfriends, or eagerly awaiting my period (yeah, I know, what was I thinking?) I grew accustomed to waiting. It became a way of life.

And as anyone in the publishing industry knows, waiting = breathing. It’s just part of it.

Weight to Words
Because around our dinner table it was often difficult to get a word in, I made sure the words I said (or wrote in letters) counted. I knew I had three point six seconds to grab attention and keep it, so I truncated and gave the headlines as opposed to the entire news story as often as possible. My dad liked this. My husband likes this. Must be a guy thing, too.

Editing is the art of truncation.

Sharing the Glory
When the igloo towered over our elementary school bodies, our folks applauded. When we performed elaborate play after play, our folks cheered. When we swam the lake in order to not have to wear life jackets in the boat, our parents celebrated (my sisters, not me because I never was able to swim the lake). Anyhoo…my point is in a big family it was rare to accomplish something, correction…anything alone. My sisters and I often worked together, learning the ins and outs of collaboration and receiving collective praise.

I try to remember this as I witness my friends succeeding with book contracts and multiple book deals. By sharing their news with me, I tend to view it as though they are sharing the glory. Someday I intend to share with them.

Humble Bumble
I liked to dress up as Mia the bee—way beyond Halloween (if you've read Little Bee, think Batman costume). That story got passed around our Thanksgiving table crowded with guests. So did the one about me falling off the stage and the one about how I painted an Easter egg with the words Don’t Tease Jesus. Hmm…the psychology behind that one. Anyway, I got used to embarrassing stories about moi being dinnertime fodder. It takes a lot to embarrass me now.

Receive one rejection and you know how this one helps in the publishing world.

Hand Me Downs
I wore my sister’s dresses. In fact, my thirty-eight-year-old sister still sends me sneakers she’s gotten minimal use out of. The idea stuck I guess. I don’t have a “you owe me, must be me” sense of entitlement.

You lose this pretty quickly when you walk around in hand me down tennis shoes as a thirty-six-year-old. Sort of brings it all into perspective. I’ll end up with the house I’m meant to be with. End of story.

Picked on—Tough Skin
I have calluses that would put a lumberjack’s to shame. My name wasn’t Wendy growing up, it was cry baby. At the first hint of a tear that name got slapped on me. In retrospect, I see why. I was good at crying. I knew how to get my feelings out. Really well. Ha! But I knew how to take the punches and this only inspired me to grow thicker skin. I still feel deeply, but I’ve well-learned what to let go of.

Paying Attention & Taking Notes
As the youngest, I got the rare opportunity to tune in to see which behaviors and life choices worked for my sisters and which ones led them to rock bottom. I took copious mental notes about how I wanted to live my life.

I’m still doing this with those ahead of me on the publication highway. I’m watching. I’m observing. I’m taking notes. Learning every step of the way.

Have you ever given thought to how your birth order impacted your decision to pursue your choice profession and/or how it prepared you?

*photos of Paine girls

One Oar Faith

2012-01-02T04:48:00.000-08:00

We’re told to love God and love others. Seems simple. But I’m going to outright confess that the second instruction can get excruciatingly tough for me sometimes.

Loving God, seeing his goodness, this isn’t what trips me up. It’s his people that trip me up. (Last I checked, I’m a person, so I include myself in this category.)

I often find myself stretched with how I love others. I’m drawn to humble hearts, folks willing to admit brokenness and imperfection. (I also happen to like people who have a keen appreciation for laughter.)

The hardest people for me to love are the pious; the prideful ones screaming about the splinters in my eye as I silently stare at the lumberyard in their eye. Even as I’m wounded by these types of people, I’ve been through enough to understand I can learn from them—their behavior. I can choose to live differently and love all the same. This is growth in the big leagues.

So what’s with the title, one oar faith? When I was thinking about the day to day struggle of loving God’s people an image formed (yeah, this tends to happen a lot…probably why I slid into my career as a writer).

A rowboat. I’m in it. And when I’m loving God, appreciating his sovereignty, his unending, grace-filled love, I’m pushing the boat forward with one oar. On one side.

Do you see it?

I’m moving in circles with that kind of faith—that one oar practice of Christianity. I’m trusting God, but not the settings he’s placed me in or the people he’s plopped in my life.

Don’t get me wrong, both oars are in the boat. I’m able to reach down and take hold of the second oar at any time, but it tends to cramp my hand when I grip it, the wood splinters against my palm, and water splashes all over me when I pick up that oar and utilize it. In other words…it hurts.

Loving others hurts. But here’s the cool thing about that. There’s a verse in the Bible that says to consider it an honor whenever we identify with Jesus in any way. It’s impossible to imagine how deeply Jesus was injured by man (and still is). Words don’t cover it so I won’t try. The point is he gets what it feels like to row with both oars.

And you know what I hear him whispering to me? Pick up both oars. Full speed ahead. It’s time to move forward.

Big league faith. Both oars. Raw, cramped and bleeding hands, drenched body, upper arm muscles pulsing and aching with exertion.

And somewhere on the break of a wave I’ll be reminded it’s in loving others that I’m demonstrating my love for God.

Can you relate with my one oar vs. two oar image? What helps you when it comes to loving difficult people?

*photos by flickr
**Stop by here later to see who All “I”s are on!

Twelve Ways of this Business

2011-12-16T04:07:00.000-08:00

Mixin’ it up a little on this Moving Thoughts Friday. Had a little fun with this and posted it over at the Alley yesterday. In case you missed it…

The Twelve Ways of this Business

On the first day of Christmas, my agent gave to me… partridge (partial title of one of my novels) in a contract…wee! (Just playin’. No big announcements to share.)

On the second day of Christmas, my agent gave to me… new platform love & partridge in a contract…wee!

On the third day of Christmas, my agent gave to me… three agency friends, new platform love, & partridge in a contract…wee!

On the fourth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me… four stalling words, three agency friends, new platform love, & partridge in a contract…wee!

On the fifth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me… five cell phone rings, four stalling words, three agency friends, new platform love, & partridge in a contract…wee!

On the sixth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me…six tweets-a-sayin’, five cell phone rings, four stalling words, three agency friends, new platform love, & partridge in a contract…wee!

On the seventh day of Christmas, my agent gave to me… seven mochas brewing, six tweets-a-sayin’, five cell phone rings, four stalling words, three agency friends, new platform love, & partridge in a contract…wee!

On the eighth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me… eight pencils breaking, seven mochas brewing, six tweets-a-sayin’, five cell phone rings, four stalling words, three agency friends, new platform love, & partridge in a contract…wee!

On the ninth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me… nine chapters prancing, eight pencils breaking, seven mochas brewing, tweets-a-sayin’, five cell phone rings, four stalling words, three agency friends, new platform love, & partridge in a contract…wee!

On the tenth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me…ten verbs-a-sleepin’, nine chapters prancing, eight pencils breaking, seven mochas brewing, six tweets-a-sayin’, five cell phone rings, four stalling words, three agency friends, new platform love, & partridge in a contract…wee!

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my agent gave to me… eleven editors Skyping, ten verbs-a-sleepin’, nine chapters prancing, eight pencils breaking, seven mochas brewing, six tweets-a-sayin’, five cell phone rings, four stalling words, three agency friends, new platform love, & partridge in a contract…wee!

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my agent gave to me… twelve bloggers blogging, eleven editors Skyping, ten verbs-a-sleepin’, nine chapters prancing, eight pencils breaking, seven mochas brewing, six tweets-a-sayin’, five cell phone rings, four stalling words, three agency friends, new platform love & partridge in a contract…wee!

Join in & sing your own way of this business…

*photos by flickr

**MERRY CHRISTMAS! I'm going on a blogging hiatus for the next few weeks. I'll still be online a little here, there (& well, of course not everywhere).

The Grace Effect

2011-12-14T05:02:00.000-08:00

The Grace Effect: How the Power of One Life Can Reverse the Corruption of Unbelief by Larry Alex Taunton piqued my curiosity from the minute I read the back cover blurb. I read it during a two day road trip and found myself reading many paragraphs aloud to my husband.

Taunton’s impressionable and intellectual exploration of the impact an atheist society can have on its people stirred me and prompted me to rouse numerous related conversations.

Throughout the book, I remained engrossed in Taunton’s experience adopting a young Ukrainian girl from an orphanage that didn’t even provide children with toilet paper. Aching with compassion for Sasha, I found myself rooting for the ten-year-old, longing for her to be lovingly cared for and taken away from her current surroundings.

Taunton tackled potentially sensitive subject matter in an intriguing and often humorous way, detailing his personal adoption story, as well as Ukraine’s convoluted corrupt history, in a conjoined, and at times jolting back and forth portrayal.

The injection of grace through authentic Christian living is what appealed most to me in The Grace Effect.

I valued how as an avid debater and Christian apologist, Taunton concluded what I’ve all too often discovered in my own faith—that personal life change is the most radical, grace-filled, and merciful way to experience the impression of God. What a joy to watch as that kind of impression leaves its mark on others.

You know what I really hope? I hope someday I get to read about this story from Sasha’s perspective.

*I received a complimentary copy of this book from BookSneeze in exchange for this honest review

Key Attribute for Strong Novel Writing

2011-12-12T04:05:00.000-08:00

The longer I write the more convinced I become one specific quality has the greatest potential to improve my novel writing. But before I get to that, let me throw out a few brief scenarios.

Glimpse:

A shivering man on a bus shoves his way past a red-eyed woman as she clutches the hands of two shoeless children, both wiping away smears of mud from their cheeks.
~
A life support machine falls silent. An intimate crowd of what you guess to be loved ones release tiny tearful noises, but one. One woman (the only one with her eyes open) stands in the corner of the room by the stained curtain, twisting her watch on her wrist and you swear you spy the slightest hint of her upturned lip.
~
“I do,” she whispers as though we can’t all hear—we’re not all watching for this exact moment.

Out of character with his clean-shaven chin, the groom, the man I beat one hundred and seventy-six times at gin rummy, the childhood friend who extracted leeches from my calves until my skin bled, the only one I’ve told about that one locked memory, echoes the unrealistic promise.

I shudder as my oldest friend slides the gold band on her pencil-thin finger. I let out a sigh, making sure it’s louder than a whisper. I intend to be heard.
~

Have I left you in suspense long enough about that one imperative quality?

Empathy.

At heart, I believe every writer is a psychologist. People intrigue us. We wouldn’t write characters if that weren’t the case. With this, I’ve noticed the more empathy I feel toward others, the stronger my writing becomes. Characters take on more layered emotions, more depth, and more authenticity.

Ultimately, empathy impacts every single crucial aspect of novel writing, including two biggies, characterization and motivation.

It’s worthwhile to call upon empathetic feelings for main characters—our likable characters, but also for our antagonists.

Let’s briefly revisit the three above scenarios.

I want to know more about these people and I have questions based on what I’ve read (even though I created these w/in a few minutes time, playing w/ POV, etc.). This is good. Inspiring readers to ask questions is a sure sign you’ve conquered the first step in getting them engaged.

Questions about bus scene:
Why is the man shoving past a woman with kids?
What’s up with the woman’s red eyes?
Why are the kids shoeless and muddy and why are they suddenly wiping the mud off their faces?

~
Questions about hospital scene:
Who died?
Why does everyone in the room have their eyes closed?
Why is the one woman fidgety and potentially smiling?

~
Questions about wedding scene:
What’s up with the immediate sarcasm?
Why is the groom out of character on his wedding?
What has the narrator so riled up? Is it jealousy or what’s the story? And why is she so sure it’s an unrealistic promise?
~

Some of those characters above might turn out to be “the bad guys” but already I care about them. And that is the number one goal for an author—to incite readers to care.

Empathy. Unexpected, huh? But I swear by it. In life. In my choice profession. In fact, I have no doubt I’m drawn to writing novels because of the abundance of opportunities to demonstrate empathy.

As a reader or writer, have you noticed the powerful influence of empathy in a work? Can you tell when it’s absent? What say you about empathy being one of the best resources for novel writers?

*photo by flickr
**All “I”s are on somebody. Come see who in about an hour here!

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-12-09T04:10:00.001-08:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Weathered antique or spring chicken?

*photos by flickr

The Word-woven Nest

2011-12-07T04:08:00.000-08:00

Nathan Bransford wrote an excellent post on networking recently that homed in on my perspective of establishing contacts in and outside the publishing industry.

He advised people to view networking more as an opportunity to invest in friendships. He also raised a worthwhile point—the value of building something.

Of course that led me to evaluate what I’m building here at ~thoughts that move~, and on my FB writer page, and on Twitter…etc.

It didn’t take me long to come up with that answer.

I’m building a safe place for (primarily) women to engage in stimulating conversation.

And of course that led me to wonder what my answer entails. Well, on this I 8 Wednesday, I’m going to flesh out what’s involved in building the word-woven nest…

8 Unique Aspects I’m Intentionally Building:

Nonjudgmental Atmosphere
I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I don’t comment on Fridays. I want anyone who comments to feel entirely free to write whatever comes to mind. I don’t want my input to sway any thoughts or lead anyone to answer a certain way. Every single day I learn more and more about how it’s not my place to judge. I want that to come across loud and clear here and anywhere else my thoughts travel.

Dialogue about Books, Writing, Reading
No surprise here. I heart books. I heart writing. I heart reading. So, yep, I plan to shake up conversation about all three. As a women’s fiction author (writer...take your pick), novels are of particular interest to me.

Vulnerable Approach
I’ve lived through a lot. So have you. U2 sings, “There’s nothing you can throw at me that I haven’t already heard.” I live vulnerably because I have nothing to hide. Open book here, peeps.

Vision to Poke & Stir Thoughts
My thoughts move. River fast. I’m willing to bet I’m not the only one who appreciates growing mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. (Done growing physically. Hear that, Snickers?)

Open-minded Environment
I don’t know everything. I could squeeze a lesson out of a rock. And instead of squeezing, I’d just have to touch it. My sensory aptitude is permanently heightened. Must have been dropped on my head as a kid. Either way, it inspires me to keep an open mind.

Invite Friends & Strangers Mentality
All are welcome here. While I focus a lot of my energy on bantering with women, I want everyone to feel welcome.

*I will, however, turn you away at the door if you offer only rudeness, inappropriateness, or hurtful comments.

Discussion of Relatable and Relevant Issues for Women
As previously stated, women are my audience. I appeal to you. I pay attention to what personally grabs me as a woman and I write about it, hoping you’ll be inspired, moved to action, or simply moved to think.

A Faith-based Worldview (this shows up organically)
I’m a believer so you’ll see God’s face here. Sometimes I go back over my posts and think, what do you know, He showed up again. He’s good like that.

Have you been intentional about what you are building? What are you building and what’s involved in the weaving?

*photos by flickr

Reaching for Blankets

2011-12-05T04:02:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite roles as a mom is tucking my girls into bed. I love pulling their blankets high up to their necks, snuggling with them, saying prayers, and shutting off the light. It settles me knowing I’ve left them in a peaceful state.

However, some mornings I walk in their rooms only to find them shivering with their blankets kicked beyond their reach.

It’s this exact image that comes to mind when I think of seasons of life when I’ve forgotten to reach for my own blankets. There are a handful of trusted resources I count on when I want to be in a place of contentment and calm.

Reading, Writing, and not so much Arithmetic
I feel like I come more into myself when I’m reading and writing. I’m at home doing both of these activities and if I’ve gone for long enough not allotting time for one or the other, an anxiousness builds inside me, a visceral ache for words.

Exercise, Water, and not Noshing
Sounds counterintuitive doesn’t it—that I would find rest and tranquility in the above? It’s not entirely in the workout or the chugging water or even in the restraint it takes not to throw back seven of those super mini Snickers, justifying it’s equal to a bar. The calm comes after the storm. After I sweat a rain forest and pound thunderously on our treadmill. Exercise has always been one of my most effective ways of righting my mind.

Friend Connections
It’s hard for me to put into words the value of friendships in my life. I’ve been bolstered and encouraged by dear women more times than I can count. And there’s simply nothing like the kind of soda-spewing laughter that trusted friends incite. Effervescence at its best!

Time to Chill
Me time. Say what? What’s that? I hear ya, and I know. When I’ve neglected to slow down and take a few minutes (ah, an hour…what I wouldn’t give for a solid hour) I’m more frazzled, quicker to snap, and I shiver at how fast my thoughts turn cold.

Prayer
Saved the most intimate for last. It changes me. Throwing up words or a call for help to God changes me. It’s a show of trust. It’s an act of humility. It’s demonstrative of my desire to connect. When I’ve communed with God it filters through every aspect of my life.

I forget to reach for these physical and emotional blankets in my life sometimes and I’m left in a vulnerable fetal position wondering how I got to such an unattended state. I simply neglected to reach for the blankets already in my life.

Do you ever forget to reach for the blankets? What are your blankets and what helps remind you to reach for them?

*All "I"s are on _________ here later today. Come check it out!

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-12-02T04:08:00.000-08:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

You’re stranded on a deserted island with a television that’s unable to be turned off (yeah, I know, so realistic). Would you rather have The Jersey Shore or Keeping Up with the Kardashians airing 24/7 (and no, there is no way to drown, destroy, detonate, or silence the TV)?

*photos by flickr

The Many Faces of Jealousy (Part Two)

2011-11-30T04:12:00.000-08:00

Growing up, my older sister’s soccer skills put mine to shame. I spent a good deal of my elementary and middle school years silently jealous of her talent and the attention she received because of it. That is until I finally learned the best way to manhandle the emerald-eyed beast.

Time after time I’ve come to understand the best way for me to deal with jealous feelings is to grow even thicker inside my own skin. What the heck does that mean? I’m all about the Gotta Be Me Grin. Whenever I feel even the slightest hint of envy bubbling up from within, I go into power drive to fight it, and I remind myself to stay the course on my own unique path.

You might be wondering what I did…about the whole soccer deal. Ashley was All-American numerous times, earning a full scholarship to college. She met Pele (see doohickey over last e). She even played against Mia Hamm in a final four college tournament. She shined. I quit. After eighth grade I decided to stop following in her shadow and I tried dance instead. Well folks, let me just tell you I move to my own rhythm. And because of this I was positioned back row, corner. Dance wasn’t it for me. But I kept searching to find my niche. In the search I discovered I’m one determined mother (well, that came later) with a predilection toward resiliency.

I get jealous in this industry sometimes, too. But I took notes from my youth. I fight it with the grin—The Gotta Be Me Grin.

Here are some other faces of jealousy without its mask:

Pity Me Pout
This one is so easy to fall prey to. The whole woe is me mentality. “I’m not as good as Perfect Patty.” Newsflash…Patty ain’t perfect and no, you’re not as good as her. Because, Pity Me, you aren’t meant to be Patty.

I Gotta Be Me Grin
This one is my favorite face to form to combat jealousy’s jaundiced glow. This is when we decide to celebrate others while growing in confidence in who we are, where we are, what we are doing, and why we’re here.

Protective Possum Pose
Shut down mode. Possum buries the treasures, the extraordinarily traits and talents meant to be offered only because PPP believes the lie that she doesn’t measure up. How can she measure up to anything when she flings herself under the dirt to hide?

Copycat Calculated Wink
It’s a detriment to ourselves and others when we wink away copycat style. We aren’t meant to be them. They aren’t meant to be us. Emulating to a point of copying insults both the copied and the copier.

Blabbering Blubberer
The Blabbering Blubberer runs his mouth desperate for attention, be it positive or negative. In a fitful and desperate cry to be noticed, BB flails and squawks in attempt to avert focus from the jealous party. More often than not BB ends up looking like a bumbling peacock with a cockatoo bleat.

Bitter Overbite
Unaddressed, jealousy festers. It can turn your heart cold, altering the climate of your affection and generosity. Unexplored, thoughts of this nature can crowd and tangle like an impassable jungle. This massive overbite of bitterness is bound to bite you back.

Self-doubting Shy Guy
Seesaw brain. So subtle this one is (so Yoda I love to be). Waffle and waver. Stew and simmer. The gumption is gone. Risk-taking extinguished, the light in Shy Guy’s eyes has dimmed. He’s allowed the beast to win, claiming the landscape of his face—of his whole demeanor.

Sneering Slanderer
This is the “I can’t win, so I’ll just bring ‘em down with me” mentality. It reveals great weakness of character and a gaping lack of humility. Bad mouth the person I’m jealous of and maybe I can tarnish their reputation. Odds are Sneering is the one who’ll feel the hurt on this one.

How do you unmask and fight some of the faces above? Can you think of any other faces that have helped you slay the emerald-eyed beast?

*photo by flickr
**Oh, and I’m still dancing to my own rhythm!

The Many Faces of Jealousy (Part One)

2011-11-28T04:01:00.000-08:00

Jealousy. We all feel it. The writing industry is ripe with opportunities to become jealous. I’ve bumped into plenty of posts that have addressed ol’ emerald eyes, but I plan to shed light on something I haven’t come across—jealousy sprung to action. Jealousy without its mask.

In a two part exploration, I intend to delve right into the heart (or should I say face?) of this prevalent beast. I’m going to detail common ways people behave when jealousy has got their tongue.

Pity Me Pout
I Gotta Be Me Grin
Protective Possum Pose
Copycat Calculated Wink
Blabbering Blubberer
Bitter Overbite
Self-doubting Shy Guy
Sneering Slanderer

On Wednesday, I’ll decode the eight faces above. We’ll unmask this beast together. I hope you’ll join me.

(As a side, I discuss topics like this not only because human behavior fascinates me to no end, but because such knowledge helps me better understand my characters…and let’s be honest here, myself better.)

*Excited to share who All “I”s are on today! (mid-morning)
**photo by flickr

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-11-18T03:48:00.000-08:00

This is my 500th post!

In honor of that I’d like you to finish this…

I’d like to be surrounded by 500 ____________________.

*photos by flickr
**I will be offline during most of next week. Happy Thanksgiving!

***I’m loving the dialogue so far on my Facebook writer page. Please come join the conversation!

Lisa Jordan's Time to Shine

2011-11-16T04:11:00.000-08:00

When I was a new writer dabbling in fiction, the most common bit of advice I heard was “Write what you know.” So what did I know?

Small towns…check.

Romance…check.

Marine Corps…check.

Police…check.

Fear…check check.

When I married my husband, he was a military policeman in the U.S.M.C. Upon his discharge, he wanted to be a civilian cop like his dad. At first I thought it was really cool. But closer to his discharge date, anxiety gripped my windpipe. The thought of something happening to him made my blood run cold. I did something I’ve regretted ever since—I begged him to give up his dream.

All of those elements planted a seed for my first novel idea.

As a beginning writer, my novel grew out of control with head hopping, telling instead of showing, passive sentences—it needed to be weeded and pruned.

One major change I had to make was to give my hero a flaw. Stephen was too perfect. So I gave him a past. Something was still missing. I asked My Book Therapy dynamic duo Susan May Warren and Rachel Hauck to help me brainstorm. After our two-hour phone call, my characters had roots and branched out into a story with depth.

~*~

I’m holding a scavenger hunt and lakeside photo contest to promote my Lakeside Reunion release. Plus, blog commenters on my blog hop will be put in a drawing for fun prizes—breakfast basket, Love Inspired Authors basket, autographed copies of Lakeside Reunion. Visit my Lakeside Reunion Contest page for more information.

The token for this blog is a lakefront.

Bio: Heart, home and faith have always been important to Lisa Jordan, so writing stories that feature both comes naturally to her. She has been writing contemporary Christian romance for more than a decade. Her debut novel, Lakeside Reunion, will be released in November by Love Inspired, followed by her second novel, Lakeside Family, in August 2012 by Love Inspired. Happily married for twenty-two years, Lisa and her husband have two young adult sons. When she isn’t writing or caring for children in her in-home childcare business, Lisa enjoys family time, romantic comedies, good books, crafting with friends and feeding her NCIS addiction. Visit her here to learn more about her writing.

Lakeside Reunion: Bed-and-breakfast owner Lindsey Porter prays she won’t run into Stephen Chase when she returns to Shelby Lake. Five years ago, the cop jilted her to marry another woman, and Lindsey fled town. But no sooner does she hit city limits than Stephen pulls her over for a broken taillight. Despite the past, he’s still able to stir up Lindsey’s old feelings for him. Now a widower and single dad, Stephen recognizes a second chance when he sees one. And he’ll do anything to make Lindsey trust in God and take a risk for love—again.

I’m honored to host Lisa Jordan here today. She’s a kindhearted woman and it’s thrilling to celebrate her in her time to shine. Originally this post should have been published weeks ago, but with the power outage and the craziness that followed, Lisa was generous to adjust to the publish date. I hope you check out Lisa’s site and her book!

Whittling a Story Idea

2011-11-14T03:57:00.000-08:00

Where do you get your ideas? I’ve been asked that dozens of times. I’ve given it some thought and I’ve decided the best way to answer that query is with an image.

My brain is landscaped with a forest of ideas. (Think Germany’s Black Forest.) Novel sparks branch out on a weekly and sometimes, daily basis. Clearly, I can’t tackle writing fifty books a year, so I’m required to seek out the best sticks—the ones that will endure. The ones that will aid me in telling the best stories.

I gather handfuls of twigs, surveying them for their durability and shape. I examine them, estimating how they’ll turn out after I begin the whittling process. I tune in, as I meander through my thoughts, listening for crackling under my feet or watching until a bird ascends from a branch, triggering a gentle bounce. This process is akin to identifying a glimpse of a character, a snatch of conversation, or a compelling plot concept. I take notes. I pay attention.

Then I put my ideas to the test by cutting them. It takes me months and sometimes as long as a year to slice off the outer bark as I determine what about this particular stick will endure or even if it will endure once it’s been stripped to the core. I’m patient. I’m disciplined. I’m intent on shedding off all the extraneous in order to discover, as I write, the beauty beneath the bark.

And the fresh wooded scent grows more pungent as I work the stick into a story.

Where do you get your ideas?

*Come see who All “I”s are on today here!
**photo by flickr

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-11-11T04:06:00.000-08:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Ode to Neil Young…Hey Hey, My My, is it better to burn out or fade away?

*photos by flickr

Blogging Basics (As Told from a 50s Mom)

2011-11-09T04:08:00.000-08:00

I thought I’d have a little fun with you this I 8 Wednesday. Many of you are experienced bloggers, but I find I still learn tidbits here and there to improve ~ thoughts that move~ and I tweak my website based on my findings. The following might be review for you, but have fun reading, and ingest it as a review with a twist (thanks Chub). Even if you’ve been around this block, swing around one more time as I flashback to the 50s.

50s Mom says:

A little soap and water never killed anyone
I make mistakes. Commas will be the end of me, that’s for sure. But I invest a concerted effort when it comes to checking my spelling and grammar in my posts. I’m a professional, so I work hard to come across that way, even if I’m churning something out the day after I’ve been up all night with a sick kid (like now). I write all my posts in Word and read them over multiple times before posting. I miss a few snafus here and there, but I work hard to offer clean and shiny content.

Turn down that rock ‘n roll
Automatic playlists: Switch them to optional or get rid of them altogether. This one was difficult for me to adjust. I love music. I kept my playlist (bottom right) because music is most certainly a form of expression, however, I’d read one too many posts discouraging the automatic noise when someone clicks on my site. I sucked it up and made the change. All for professionalism.

Wear clean underwear in case you get in an accident
I’ve seen it and I know you’ve come across it. Bitter Betsy feels the right to spew on her blog about Needling Nancy. Watch it. I’m all for vulnerability and authenticity (you’d know that if you’ve hung around this block) but impulsivity can bite you back. What goes online stays online. No take backs. And I know I don’t need to remind you just how powerful words are.

You’ll poke your eye (or somebody’s eye out)
Minimize flashy or distracting images. Tidy up. Keep a clean room. You know the drill.

As long as you live under my roof, you’ll do as I say (someday you’ll thank me for this)
Don’t forget your audience. It benefits you to write with an interactive approach, asking questions, engaging the people you most want to reach. And for Pete’s sakes, get out there and comment on other blogs.

What are you, Elvis? Quit your gyrating.
Content is king. Go somewhere with your blog posts. Think them through. Don’t just oscillate or ramble with your words.

Your face will freeze that way
Get creative with your blog topics. No one says you have to be stuck writing about one thing. But should you choose a single topic, remember there are hundreds of ways to write about…say flowers (currently reading The Language of Flowers where the author proves this. I also know because in one of my novels, The Flower Girls, I had a blast depicting varying aspects of flowers.) Don’t stay frozen and feel stuck with your content.

Watch your hem (this is the one to rebel against)
Moms want it long, but I suggest shooting for 500 words or less (give or take). If you care about your readers, you care about their attention spans and it’s likely they’re reading many other blogs. Rebel and write those short shorts or classy it up with a hoop skirt.

Can you think of anything else 50s mom might say regarding blogging basics?

*photo by flickr

Giving Up to Receive

2011-11-07T03:36:00.000-08:00

~ What Eight Days Without Power Taught Me ~

Have you ever been driving and lost all concept of how you got from mile one to mile two? You stay in the zone, eyes focused on the road, but you lack aesthetic (or any) appreciation for the view you’ve just passed.

I feel like I’ve been driving through my life like that lately.

And with the recent snowstorm, my brakes failed and spun my car directly in front of a wooden sign with the words: Scenic View (time to pay attention).

Was the last eight days without power bouncing from a hotel to our house to a dear friend’s home back to our house stressful? Sure it was. But I gained something back in that time. I was reintroduced to a refined sense of my role as a mother, wife, caretaker, and even as a writer.
This forced break was exactly what I needed and I’m not sure I would have taken the time had I not been stripped of power (heat and electricity included).

Here are some comical (and chaotic) ways the storm impacted us:
~I learned that toothpaste can freeze.
~Steve was traveling for four days during the outage so I took action with getting the girls to warm places.
~I now understand the description “swampy eyes” Zusak used for the Standover Man in The Book Thief after spending five nights sleeping in the basement with the temperature reading 45 degrees inside the house.
~Each morning, I sat up anxiously waiting for the pipes to click and churn to life as though the house was in a coma and I willed it to snap out of it.
~My girls played a nice round of musical coughs.
I started my first fire and kept it going for hours. (I will not stop you if you are now clapping.)
~We looked stylish wearing our scarves and hats 24/7.
~All sense of the date and time got entirely whacked out inside my head just in time for Daylight Savings.
~I kept the kids busy and content even as their school was cancelled for the week and they were hopped up on Halloween candy we never did get to hand out.
~Did I mention our downstairs toilet is broken and at night when we had to go to the bathroom (which sadly I have a habit of doing) we had to hike up to the Arctic with a flashlight.
~I know I haven’t mentioned the way I fell in love with the way my kids laugh, how my husband kisses, and how great our neighbors and dear friends were during this time. We were blessed to have neighbors help in small ways and longtime family friends host us for a few nights. We turned those days into a vacation, sightseeing and fine dining on the coast. I was entirely too close to jumping onboard a sailboat (excursions were reasonable in the town we visited) and sailing away with my kiddos.

So what’s the takeaway here—the big shebang?

I can’t tell you how many times I about lost it over the course of the last eight days. But every time I was on the verge, something snared my attention, bringing me back to the beauty of the moment—the blessing of simplicity. And I learned that sometimes we need to lose it to gain it back again. Gain it back with more heft and promise.

Ever been forced to slow down? Tell me about it.

Check out who All “I”s are on today on my FB writer page (should be there by 9:00)!
*photo by flickr

Halloween Hotel-style

2011-10-31T14:15:00.001-07:00

Forget that the picture is super small. Forget that I'm in a hotel when I should be trick-or-treating with my kiddos in another state (not happening there b/c of fallen power lines). Forget that my husband and one daughter got smacked by a truck today (they are both okay) and I had to witness the whole nasty collision from a few cars back. Forget that we've been without power for days and I'm feeling like I have no more marbles to lose...I'm alive. I'm here. And I finally got this post in.

Happy Birthday to me! I'll see you when I see you (no idea when power is expected to come back...could be days). Days...ha! (And yes, I will be having wine with my dinner tonight.)

And we will be roaming the halls in our Star Wars costumes. Yes, yes we will! Halloween hotel-style. This is how I roll on my b-day when I've gone w/out power for days.

*photo by flickr

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-10-28T03:54:00.000-07:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

I confess, I like the fact my name is in a song. I sing to it (loudly) whenever it comes on the radio. Now who wouldn’t be flattered by lyrics from "The Boss" like these: “Wendy let me in. I wanna be your friend. I want to guard your dreams and visions…Together Wendy we’ll live with the sadness. I’ll love you with all the madness in my soul. Someday girl, I don’t know when, we’re gonna get to that place where we really want to go and we’ll walk in the sun. But ‘til then, tramps like us, baby we were born to run.”

Is your name in a song? Or have you ever been serenaded?

*photos by flickr

Pick a Number…Any Number

2011-10-26T04:10:00.000-07:00

ideas of what I wanted to be when I grew up (a handful to a now certain one)

math scores (pick any number between 50-100)

high school fundraiser “popularity gauge” candy canes (one year, one, another year, twenty)

invites to attend Homecoming in high school (one year, nine, one year, none)

people I could call close friends (a roomful of rockin’ moms from a church mom’s group I led in Ohio, one old neighbor lady in Georgia)

digits on a scale (in my adulthood, a 30lb spread)

social networking stats on any given site on any given day (changing every day)

moments I’ve trusted in God’s love above what any number could reveal (hoping for an exponential increase on this one)

Numbers are concrete. I’m a novelist. I create imaginary worlds and make believe characters.

Numbers are concrete. More often than not they scare me because they don’t speak to me. They aren’t words. I adore words. Words fill the playground in my brain. I tend to kick numbers to the curb.

However, I’m aware numbers can be valuable at times. In publishing, for example, I’ll want to keep close tabs on how my books are selling. If I notice a lull, I’ll work harder to sell more books. I’ll pay attention to the numbers. I’m not blind to them. I pay attention now, too (sometimes more than I’d like). But numbers also tend mess with me. (Scale anyone?)

There are days I’ll see a number on one of my social networking sites and I’ll feel the lure to compare, but then I remember how much more gratifying it is to compete against myself (and my own current numbers). I remember how passionate I am about uplifting other women, even if that means their numbers get elevated and mine do not. I recall my deep desire to move forward in this industry with integrity, establishing genuine relationships based on something more than a notch on a computer screen. I remember why I’m here and the One whose opinion I care about most.

There will always be someone out there with more significant numbers, whether it’s more candy canes stacked on their desk or more pounds stacked on their hips. Someone with more friends or better scores. We are all created and gifted uniquely. I get so tired of all that weird competitive stuff that goes on between women. So what will I do, the rebel I am…I plan to celebrate the gifts I notice in other women, as I grow in confidence and strength whilst doing my own thang.

Who’s with me on this (because sometimes there really is power in numbers)?

*photo by flickr

Caught in the Undertow

2011-10-24T04:10:00.000-07:00

Lately I’ve been caught in the undertow of some disorienting thoughts. I wasn’t exactly sure how to describe them (and some I still haven’t found a way to pinpoint) but when I read the following paragraph in THE GIRLS by Lori Lansens (a book I’m currently devouring) something resonated. In this book the main character, Rose fleshes out one of thoughts crashing against me.

“I’m filled with confidence when I begin, but by the end of a writing night I’m left to wonder if other writers feel the way I do—that with each letter, word, phrase, sentence, paragraph, I’m digging a toe-hold, gripping a rock, a fool on a mountainside, alone and ill-equipped, a disastrous fall more likely than a gloried ascent. Why did I start climbing? Where am I now? Who gives a sh** if I reach the summit?”

So there you have it. The writing life (and life in general) ain’t all sunshine and synonyms. Sometimes we climb despite our doubt. Sometimes we dig our toes so far in the sand the raging current, in all its fury, cannot move us.

Right now I’m magically doing both.

*Thankfully, the tides have turned some since I wrote this post. I debated not posting it, but as a writer I’m called to tell the truth and the truth isn’t always pretty.
**Check out who I get to uplift on my FB All “I”s on __________! (Mid-morning.)
***photo by flickr

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-10-21T04:08:00.000-07:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Solve the mystery or let the mystery solve you?

*photos by flickr

8 Dinosaur Thoughts Better Off Extinct

2011-10-19T04:18:00.000-07:00

I don’t have a boy so I’ve missed the joy of watching a toddler guy crash two monster dinosaurs into each other and the awe caught up in a wee one’s stare when he stops in his tracks at a museum and gazes at Allosaurus (yep, looked that up) fossils for the first time.

Because I don’t deal much with dinosaurs on a daily basis, I thought I’d invite them here. But here they’re not so awe-inspiring. Today I’m giving you eight dinosaur thoughts that are better off extinct.

I can’t improve
Who says? Sure you can. This one is a lie. Put it to bed.

I’ve never been hurt that badly in my whole life
Pain is an oddity. Physical pain is fleeting, but certain emotional pains might as well have attached to us like an outer layer of skin or scales (for the sake of the running metaphor). It’s worth it to slough off the power of those painful memories. Learn from it. Grow from it. But don’t let emotional pain from the past keep you from living.

This dinosaur thought is classic Velociraptor victim mentality—a way to self validate. A way to tell yourself you really did feel that bad.

I’ll never be that happy again
Again, who says? What are you, Pawpawsaurus (love the name) prophetic? Escort this thought out the doors marked Extinct Exit. Can you tell I’m a fan of the famous “life is what you make it” train of thought?

I’m not supposed to be here
This one makes no sense and it’s futile (a word that always reminds me of reptile…reptile…dinosaur, eh? Eh?) . To quote a line from Horton Hears a Who, “We are here. We are here. We are here.” What we do and say matters.

She’s better at me at everything
This is a Garudimimus (looked that up too) generalization. Sure, she’s better at some things. But we all have our areas of giftedness. Kill this one. It’s dangerous and it breeds little carnivorous babies.

I hate them
One of the most predatory thoughts listed here, this one damages from the inside out. It’s a parasite.

If I just ignore it, it’ll go away
I see this one as belonging to the family of hate’s opposite. The Alectrosaurus apathetic approach has to go. Here’s a truth, most ignored things find a way to surface when you least expect it.

I have no choice, I’m stuck
If you’ve visited ~ thoughts that move ~ say, more than once, you know I’m a mover. I’ve certainly had seasons when I’ve felt stuck, but I also now trust in the reality that I’m never stuck. (I have a living God motivating me to move.) I have choices. These frozen fossils of thought need to dethaw and die.

Can you think of any other T-Rex mind traps?

*photo by flickr

Practice Makes Practiced

2011-10-17T04:12:00.000-07:00

It’s one thing to have an idea. And another to take that idea and make a book out of it. And quite another to put in the time editing that book. And entirely another to do this numerous times.

We don’t expect rock stars to rise to fame in the aftermath of a single concert or Olympic athletes to garner worldwide attention from one game or one great day of stellar sportsmanship. No, instead we can easily surmise their songs or their sport demanded countless hours of concentrated dedication.

Same goes for writers.

This isn’t anything new. I’m not proposing a wild and crazy new strand of advice here. It’s an essential—a core truth for any and all writers to not just know, but adhere to if we aim to be published. Practice makes practiced and practiced is the kind of writer agents and editors want. It’s the kind of writer bound to develop sharpened skills while honing the craft.

And if we’ve gone the distance and cranked out more than one or two novels, there is a snazzy piece of advice I’d love to point you toward. Check out what Marcus Brotherton recently guest posted about on my agent’s blog regarding killing completed unpublished manuscripts.

Sometimes it seems like Kenny Rogers held the key to so many of life’s great mysteries. “The secret to surviving is knowing what to throw away and knowing what to keep.”

I’ll say good-bye now and pretend not to hear you singing the rest of the lyrics to “The Gambler”.

Finish this: Practice makes ______________.

*photo by flickr
**I’m having a blast now on Mondays with my “I”s on ___________ (a new FB face every Monday), celebrating and uplifting those I appreciate. Come see (mid-morning) who All “I”s are on this week!

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-10-14T04:01:00.000-07:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Life in the fast lane or Stop and smell the roses?

*photos by flickr

The Value of Learning to Lead & Follow Well

2011-10-12T04:08:00.000-07:00

We all want to be strong leaders, whether we are designed for leadership or not. It’s in our nature, part of our attention-seeking wiring. We want to influence others and have our ideas catch on.

This can be an entirely noble pursuit, but we are amiss to pursue leadership with vigor if we pay no mind to what it takes to be a strong follower as well. Some of the greatest people to work with (and let’s face it, to be around and befriend) have a keen understanding of how to lead and also how to respect when they’re not in the lead—how to follow with dignity.

I’m fleshing out eight valuable results of learning to lead and follow well:

We Demonstrate Humility
We don’t always have to be the one talking, guiding, instructing, or bossing. We’re all given numerous opportunities to follow someone. Currently, I lead and follow as an assistant soccer coach. I follow the lead of the head coach (and am blessed to do so because she’s shaping a mighty team with a lot of emphasis on sportsmanship).

We Show Respect
When we effectively lead and follow, we exude the understanding we don’t always need to be in control. We allow others to make imperative decisions and abide by them.

It Becomes Clear We Know How to Listen
Following well is an outward sign we take heed to what others think, to the direction and vision they are hoping to move.

We Prove We Don’t Lead with a Dictator Mentality
No one likes a bossypants. Everyone appreciates when they feel heard. No matter what kind of leadership role we find ourselves in, it serves us well to give all parties a voice. Heck, we might learn a boatload in the process.

We Practice What We Preach
A real do as I do example. If we are following well, we are modeling the very behavior we hope to see from those we lead.

We Express the Understanding There’s a Time for Everything
I’ve led over sixty women in a rockin’ mom’s group before. I’ve also taken a step back and have served with a more sidelines effort. From both of these roles, I gleaned a finer grasp on how there’s a time for everything. I had to assess my priorities before I slid into each role and they both suited my goals at the time. Not always having to be in the lead speaks volumes about our character and our ability to trust others when their time comes.

We Grow In Both Roles by Witnessing Examples of What to Do and What Not to Do If ever there’s a prime time to learn, it’s when we are on the sidelines. We teach our kids this in soccer. Half of them are content to weave daisy chains and gobble up the Smartfood popcorn, but we encourage the players to be watching when they’re not on the field. In our time of following we are bombarded with excellent examples of best practices and moves that flop. We are prudent to take notes, to observe with a heart for learning, because we might miss something vital that could change how we lead.

We Gain Experience and Wisdom
In both a leader and follower roles we are building our empathy meter. We are gauging what it feels like to be subordinate to someone. At the same time, we are offered a rare gift of being able to navigate and steer as a leader. A sound leader is aware of the temptation of pride and control. A sound follower is in tune with the temptation to become bitter and lazy. Wise are the leaders and followers who fight said temptations and grow in their current callings. (That sounded a little Yoda-ish…yeah Yoda!)

Any examples of when or how you grew in a leader or follower role?

*photos by flickr

Cliqueless in Connecticut

2011-10-10T04:26:00.000-07:00

I’m not a fan of cliques. I like groups. I love groups actually and I’ve been a member of dozens of influential core groups. But a group becomes a clique when the doors shut. When there’s either a spoken or an unspoken underlying sense that all positions within have been filled. No need to apply. No come back later. Door is locked.

I’m a fan of open doors. The whole open door, anyone’s welcome mentality—that’s what I gravitate toward. Maybe because I always felt a crushing empathy for the underdog in school or because I’ve been thrown to the curb a time or two and I know how excruciating it feels. For whatever reason, I simply don’t like cliques.

Does any of this surprise you about me? I hope not.

My thoughts about cliques were triggered when my daughter reminded me of the lovely dynamics that begin to bud at her age (fourth grade). Man, oh man, I could write her a book about what I’ve witnessed when it comes to females and their treatment of one another. But I won’t. Instead, I’ll continue to remind her to be kind to everyone, to make conscious decisions about including others, and to branch out when it comes to establishing friendships.

I get why people hunker into tight knit groups. It makes perfect sense to me. There are even things about that kind of loyalty (and perhaps boundary setting) I can appreciate, but all too often I see the inadvertent ostracizing that those groups partake in. I see the weakness in shutting others out.

But this is me. And perhaps I’ll grow to feel differently. I’m open to that.

I’m open.

My door remains open. And I have no plans on closing it anytime soon.

So welcome. And while you’re at it, welcome a friend as you step on in and process these thoughts.

What say you on the matter?

*photos by flickr

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-10-07T04:12:00.001-07:00

Dream so big you are a speck inside the dream or dream small enough you are a giant inside the dream?

*photos by flickr

8 Interaction Influencers

2011-10-05T04:04:00.000-07:00

Recently I experienced something akin to an interview. I pitched my books to several editors at a writer’s conference. And believe you me I was hypersensitive to the words I chose, the way I walked in the room, down to whether or not the soup served at lunch (imbued with a good helping of curry) was still lingering on my breath.

The thing is…I cared. I care about my interactions and the impression I leave. You know what, I could tell the editors I met with cared too.

Here’s how I could tell:

Firm Handshake
As soon as we were within reach, the editors offered me a strong handshake. Let me tell you, the manner in which you shake matters. I’m so not a fan of the wilting flower. On the flip side, I get a little weirded out by the jackhammer. But shake my hand with confidence and you have my attention.

Eye Contact (at appropriate times)
See what I added in the parenthesis above? It’s key. During a crucial interaction it pays to pay attention. One of the best ways to physically demonstrate you are engaged is to provide eye contact (not stare or admire my stylish top). I felt heard when the editors gave strong eye contact.

Interruption
Waiting your turn like toddlers in a sandbox doesn’t change much. The setting changes, but the waiting bit...that’s a lifetime thing. There’s a time to talk and a time to listen. Interrupting is a surefire way to express that your point is more important. Didn’t have this happen. Whew.

Ask Questions
I love this one. Jesus was a pro at it. You show me you are interested when you ask me a question. I felt the curiosity. I’m also an odd bird, in that I love it when you stump me—when you make me think.

Smile & Mirror
Invaluable. Smiles are obviously inviting. Mirroring expressions also demonstrates honed communication skills. Check and check.

Notes
Okay, this was cool. I know the editors were inundated with appointments all weekend, which makes evidence of all the above that much more meaningful for me. But the editors also took notes. Sure, to keep track. Sure, so their eyes would stay open. But it caused me to feel important. I loved the note taking.

Validating and Repeating
Several times the editors would clarify by repeating what one of my stories was about or they’d repeat a name of a character. This helped center me and remind me they aimed to understand. Excellent listening technique.

Body Language
And I am 100% grateful I didn’t see any watch checks, eye rolls, or hippo yawns. I got a lean forward and a hula dance (kidding on that one…just seeing if you’re still with me). But the lean forward felt good. I’m just hoping the editor didn’t lean so far as to detect my curry breath.

Can you think of any additional interaction influencers you’ve encountered?

*photo by flickr

Women

2011-10-03T04:01:00.000-07:00

Stretch marks that resemble angry clouds before a storm
Prickles of dread before stepping on a scale
A heart pressurized and pulsing at the prospect of genuine love
A heart smashed like tenderized meat at a friend’s betrayal
Tears sliding down our faces as our stomach muscles convulse in raucous laughter
Our faces instinctively stretching into goo goo expressions at the sight of an infant
Strength wallowing in the gut, like a rodeo prize winner, waiting to buck and be exercised
Irritation at chipped nails, kneecap hair (hello Twitter friends), and folks who refuse to hold the door
Obsession with comfy sweats, while also endeared to shimmery evening wear
Altruism harvested from all that’s been lost, empathy birthed in pain
Chocolate cravings that could slay a ravenous three-headed beast
Fury swollen and prompting action at the words female mutilation, starvation, and ugly
Echoes of jealousy corroding the soul into more than a green-eyed monster
Appreciation for clean sheets, having our hair washed, and time to breathe
Sensitivity toward a wounded scrape, a howling animal, or a lost sheep
~
Here we are. A quick glimpse of us. Why I love us. Why I’ve chosen to write…us.
Women. I have three older sisters, a mother, a mother-in-law, two sister-in-laws, a gaggle of female cousins, aunts, grandmas, and nieces. I have three daughters and a brain harboring dozens of female characters. Of all the genres I’ve dabbled in, I’ve felt most at home exploring the stories of women.

Women’s fiction…it’s my gig.

What’s your gig?

*photos by flickr

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-09-30T03:59:00.000-07:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Bored to tears or wiggling with anxiety?

*photos by flickr

8 Ways to UnScrooge-ify

2011-09-28T04:10:00.000-07:00

Halloween decorations are up, which means it’s fair game for me to talk about something Christmas related. :D Today I’m giving you eight ways to UnScrooge-ify. Remember Scrooge—how judgmental, ice-hearted, and crotchety he was?

We don’t want to be like that.

No we don’t. So how do we UnScrooge-ify?

Think Shoes
One of the best nuggets of wisdom a friend gave me…“We never know how we’d act if we walked in their shoes, had their life—had lived their story.” Next time you find yourself quick to tear someone down in your head, remember this.

Locate Your Wooden Plank
We have to be honest with ourselves. We’re all a mess. We are only kidding ourselves if we think we have it all together. We all have areas of struggle. Before we are quick to point and glare icicle daggers into someone for their nasty behavior, we need to take a moment to remember where we’ve been and what we’re still working on. And then we are prudent to begin jerking that plank from our own eyes to rectify our vision.

Laugh
You might be thinking what the heck does laughter have to do with becoming less crotchety and judgmental. But it does. When we’re laughing, we are taking things less seriously. We aren’t letting small discouragements or disappointments dive inside our hearts and plant a warfare spray of jealousy, anger, or immobilizing fear.

Be Time Sensitive
For such a time as that. Your friend has been lashing out lately. Yes, it sucks. But remember when she told you this is the time of year her mom died and how she confessed she was afraid that lump was generational cancer? We are inclined to judge less when we know more (when we take the time to know more).

Grant Grace
Hard one, I know. But it was given to us—all of us. In abundance. So we are called to give it.

Let It Go
What do balloons, babies, and bitterness have in common? At some point we need to let go. For the latter, the sooner the better. Bitterness clenched in a fist turns to the heart to rotted fruit fast.

Volunteer
When we step outside ourselves, we heal. Think of what happened to Scrooge when he got the fat turkey—when he decided to be giving and not a miserly judge?

Give Freely (an echo of #7—it’s that important)
Test yourself. How valuable are your valuables? Not just things, but your time. Do you hoard it? How about women, how easy is it for you to genuinely uplift another woman? One of the best ways to ward off a Scrooge spirit is to care less. Care less about our things, our time, our…me…me…me. Giving makes it about you.

Can you think of any other ways we can UnScrooge-ify?

*photo by flickr

My Agent Rocks

2011-09-26T04:18:00.000-07:00

At a church service years ago, our pastor mentioned behavior the holy trinity demonstrates that I hadn’t thought about in depth until that point. Now I think about it often.

And I hope to model it every possible chance I get.

Our pastor reminded the congregation how often God points to Jesus in Scripture, how often Jesus points to the Holy Spirit, and how frequently the Holy Spirit points to God. See the common thread? Time spent pointing outward—uplifting another.

And that’s what I want to do right here.

Right now.

My agent, Rachelle Gardner of WordServe Literary won the Agent of the Year Award at the ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers) Conference this past weekend. I screamed like a ferret in church when her name was called. (I realize we don’t know for a fact if ferrets even attend church, but if they do…you know they worship in hoots and hollers.) I lost my voice I cheered so hard (note: larynx related—NOT writing related). I wanted to point to her, to show the whole room how extraordinary she is—how phenomenal she is at her job.

I’ve noticed when I’m intentional about uplifting others I’m less inclined to be self-focused. Encouraging others fuels me.

I’m really proud of Rachelle and quite frankly…I want the world to know.

Happy Monday & I’ll see you back here on Wednesday when I’m hopefully more rested and I’ve stopped writing about ferrets in church.

Anyone you want to encourage (in the purest form of this word’s meaning)?

*Thanks also to the many friends who made me laugh! (I even laughed like a ferret in church.) And laughter is good for the soul. The entire conference was good for my soul. (Loved connecting with so many people!)

Moving Thoughts Friday…on Wednesday?

2011-09-21T03:51:00.000-07:00

Every Friday (or Wed. in this case) I’m going to ask a question. The questions I choose might be ambiguous on purpose. The goal is to have you answer the question according to your beliefs, where you’re at in life or a circumstance that might have recently impacted you. The only thing I ask is that you provide an explanation for why you answered the way you did.

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Since I’m heading to the ACFW conference, and will be mostly offline until early next week, you get your Moving Thoughts Friday question early.

Favorite quote?

*photos by flickr
**I'm loving the dialogue so far on my new Facebook writer page. Please come join the conversation!

Direction Change

2011-09-19T03:54:00.000-07:00

I had a different post planned for today—one about women’s fiction and the history behind how I fell in love with that genre. I will post on that soon, but something changed my direction.

We teach the girls on our soccer team about changing direction all the time. Well, my direction got changed when I read this.

Read it. You’ll see why.

Messages like that sharpen my purpose and inspire me.

Are you open to being inspired lately?

*photo by flickr

**linked it twice b/c I didn't want you to miss it

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-09-16T03:48:00.000-07:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Listen or be listened to?

*photos by flickr

8 Career Killers

2011-09-14T03:36:00.000-07:00

It doesn’t matter which career you’ve chosen to pursue, any of the following blunders have the potential to off-road your future aspirations. Today I’ve listed eight ways you may or may not be unknowingly damaging your career.

Cultivating Impatience
Need what you need and need it now. You have a habit of reminding everyone in your line of work that you’re like a little girl in line at a carousel, demanding cotton candy, insisting the line to let you through ASAP. Wonder just how far you’ll get acting like that.

Badmouthing
You’re hurt. You’re insecure. You are certain your way is better…that you are better. Enter—the mouth. You spew. You slander and you slash about so and so to whoever happens to cross your path. Lucky them.

Letting Negativity Fester and Spread
Your dog threw up all over the carpet. Your son couldn’t find his shoe, which is sure to make you late for preschool drop-off. Your husband snapped at you about the laundry (your favorite chore) and you made the nasty mistake of stepping on the scale one day shy of your period’s arrival. It hasn’t been your day. So you pass a little of the Grinch fairy dust around. You sprinkle some on the bus driver as you snarl at him. You shove it off onto little toddler guy fishing his shoe out of the toilet. Then you bring it to work.

You ignorantly step on others on your way up.

Becoming Lazy
Ho hum. Yawn. Too lazy to describe this one.

Ignoring Priorities & Discernment
Deadline encroaching. Gut swishing. But it’s sunny out. But that TV show is soooo good. But. But. Anything but butt in chair (well known phrase in the writing world).

Blowing off the Importance of Communication
You’re confused. You’re stewing. You lack clarity. You’re angry. But they wouldn’t understand. No time to put those complicated feelings and concerns into words. Besides who wants to hear that anyway? You pretend your way through the maze and end up staring at a dead end. No way out.

Being Quick to Argue & Insisting on Being Right
You sing a little Sinatra on your way to work, “I did it my way.” You smile and laugh. Yep, that’s right. No one telling you how to handle business, you think, while blaring your horn at the blue-haired wrinkly grandma driving two.seven mph under the speed limit.

Your team offers logical suggestions you quickly dismiss with the wave of your hand. You’ve got it down, under control—nailed. It’s yours, all yours. Hey look, caught there in that fat wrinkle between your eyebrows…your inner control freak is showing.

Squelching Creative Thinking
You play it safe. Wouldn’t want to be different. Wouldn’t want to be seen as ruffling feathers, causing trouble like some business yard critter tearing up the status quo lawn. You do your work and stuff down those exploding ideas, the ideas you nurse when you’re alone, the ones you dream about, certain of their potential for success. But there are toes to step on and people who might declare you—eek—different! So you shut down and shut up.
~
We’re all a mess. But I also believe all of us have great potential to grow and learn from our own messes. If you recognize yourself in any of the above examples there’s hope for change. I’ve been guilty of some of the above. However, I didn’t stay stuck in any one of the above. I moved away from those career killers. Moving—it’s what I do.

Ever been there, done that only to recognize there and leave that?

*photo by flickr

What Do You Expect from Me?

2011-09-12T03:58:00.000-07:00

My agent, Rachelle Gardner asked a cool question on her blog not too long ago. She asked what writers expect from literary agents. Brave question, eh? I love it. (It’s worth it to read through the answers.)

Well, now I want to know the same thing from you.

When you click here to thoughts that move, what do you expect to find? Why do you come here? I’m hoping you’ll help me deliver the goods. I want to make sure while I’m poking your thoughts that you’re actually enjoying the brain poke.

Talk to me…

If you've visited here frequently let me know what you think of my Random Thought Mondays, I 8 Wednesdays (when I assemble lists of 8), and my Moving Thoughts Fridays. If you're new, what caught your attention and why do you keep coming back?

What are you curious about? What would you like to see more of? Less of? Is there a specific topic you’d like to see me address? I’m willing to delve more into my writing career, women’s fiction, marketing, books, and my personal life lessons. But before I go there I need to know if that’s where you want to go. This blog isn’t much without you. You are the ones who motivate and inspire me to stick to my disciplined schedule.

Let’s look at the map of where we’ve been together, how our thoughts have merged, and you tell me—where is it YOU want to go next?

*photo by flickr

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-09-09T03:54:00.000-07:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Remember in Mary Poppins, when Mary and the crew jumped into the sidewalk chalk drawings? Wouldn’t it be fun to be able to do that with books?

Here’s your chance…what book would you jump into?

*photos by flickr

The Waiting Place by Eileen Button

2011-09-07T03:54:00.000-07:00

I couldn’t have read this book at a better time. After enduring what felt like one of the most character-building waits of my life, I experienced a great sense of camaraderie with Eileen Button (cutest name in the world), as I read her book, The Waiting Place: Learning to Appreciate Life’s Little Delays.

In her collection of humorous essays, Button delves into the heart of what we all must deal with on a regular basis: waiting. And she accomplishes this with entertaining candor, giving vulnerable glimpses of times in her life she was forced to wait. I found it easy to become engrossed one chapter at a time, and as a mom of three, sometimes this is exactly the kind of read I’m looking for.

I appreciated learning about how Button handled the wait while she prayed for her baby’s health to improve, prayed for her career to take off, and ached for a yard statue to be removed, a comical dilemma, detailed in such a way I laughed out loud. Eileen comes across as someone I’d love to get to know.

I laughed and cried my way through this book. Between the stellar cover, the noteworthy humor, and Button’s relatable voice, I highly recommend this reflective collection of essays. I found The Waiting Place refreshing because it was not at all preachy, but possessed great power to teach and draw rich meaning out of those inevitable wait times.

*I received a copy of this book as a member of Thomas Nelson's Booksneeze in exchange for this honest review

Labor Day Greeting

2011-09-05T03:23:00.000-07:00

Working hard or hardly working?

Happy Labor Day!

*photo by flickr
**married twelve years today!

Movie Quoting My Way to Agenthood

2011-09-02T03:23:00.000-07:00

“It’s a Mystery.” (Henslowe in Shakespeare in Love)
This industry is enigmatic to say the least. It takes perseverance, hard work, and a way with words to make it. About three years ago I finished my first women’s fiction manuscript, and soon after I queried it (I know, right?). I garnered interest from a wonderful agent. I botched up connecting with her on the technical side of things and to this day I blame my technical lameness. However, I wasn’t ready.

So I put in the work, read books on craft (see favorites below), and wrote until the cows came home (they’re still out wandering apparently). I wrote six more novels in fact. I finaled in a respected contest, sent my nonfiction and fiction work out in hopes to be published in anthologies and magazines. With over a dozen stories and essays published, I continued to study the industry and establish strong connections.

But I still say there’s no magic wand that will grant you an agent fairy or *poof* publication. I chose to keep walking through discouragement, doubt, and distractions.

And last week I secured an agent. My response to that first and foremost: It’s a mystery.

“Baby steps. Baby steps.” (Bob in What about Bob)

I took voracious notes on what worked for friends on the path ahead of me. I’ve always taken myself seriously as a writer. It’s my passion, but I also see pursuing publication as a career. I researched agents and narrowed down who I believed would advocate for me the best.

Whenever I communicated with said agents, I made sure I maintained a professional, yet Wendy-esque demeanor.

“Seat’s taken.” (kids on bus in Forrest Gump)

I witnessed good friends push through the ribbon at what seemed to be the end of the race. I cheered them on, learning how to jubilantly rejoice in their good news, while fighting off jealousy with jujitsu effort. I often felt like Forrest walking down the aisle of the bus. There were times I believed I’d never find a seat.

Remember Jenny? She offered Forrest a seat. They was like peas and carrots, Forrest and Jenny.

I met my carrot at a conference last year. A carrot who has a big group of peas, so she had to wait to take me on.

“Share the load.” (Samwise in The Lord of the Rings)

The carrot agent had requested a full at the ACFW conference last year and we clicked, I mean we just clicked. I liked her. I’d been reading her blog for years and I trusted her in my gut (this is huge for me).

And in the process of waiting for feedback from her, I received unbelievable support from dear friends. This encouragement carried me. I received beautiful cards urging me to keep at it (must have been one a month from Keli Gwyn—thanks, Keli!) Thanks to everyone who provided encouragement!

I even had five friends (some writers, some not) tell me they dreamed I signed with carrot agent (this is a funny tag I’ve given her). I only dreamed about her once and we weren’t signing contracts, we were hiking together.

God works in mysterious ways. I usually take dreams and prophetic statements with a grain of salt, discerning them carefully, but, you betcha, I’m glad I wrote it all down because hindsight, I see God’s hand in it all.

“Call me. Da da da da da da, call moi.” (Harry in When Harry Met Sally)
I kept the agent’s written request in my wallet. It reminded me of my dream and how I needed to work for it. I kept an ornament that says, “The world is waiting to hear your story” hanging above my kitchen sink. Yet another reminder. I was surrounded by reminders, but entrenched in the thick of waiting. Time ticked by. Sporadically the agent and I got in touch with one another, sometimes with industry related news, sometimes not. My trust for her grew.

But there were days I cried. Yep, I can be that emotional woman who lets this business get to me. Surprise, I’m human!

Then a genuine, loving friend offered to read the work I’d submitted. She blew me away with her impression and passed it along to carrot agent. Another friend surprised me by offering kind words about me as well.

Still…I waited.

I felt like Harry in a scene from When Harry Met Sally. I even linked Billy Crystal singing on Youtube to another agent’s post as a response to how I deal with the wait. Humor has often been my golden ticket. I did anything to keep sane, anything that involved humor.

I was selective when I decided to put a few feelers out there. I received positive feedback and another request for a full. Eventually that request transpired into a kind (super kind) pass. I had yet to secure my agent match.

I waited for the call, and during the wait I discovered a boatload about what I value, how devoted I was to pursuing publication, and all kinds of good spiritual stuff that kept me humble.

“Carpe diem. Seize the day…Make your lives extraordinary.” (John Keating in Dead Poets Society)

So this is what I learned to do…to soak up each and every day, even those waiting days when I had no idea if my time would come. I continued to love writing while loving on my husband and children. I kept in touch with the agent, delighting in the way she communicated with me.

And then a day of all days came to seize. I got…the email! The rest of last Friday is a blur. I remember responding with an overwhelming yes to her email and phoning loved ones. I recall my children running outside yelling, “Our mom got an agent” (only to walk outside to discover my 4yo was naked at the time…nice).

This is my movie quote play by play how I became Rachelle Gardner’s client. I’m where I’m supposed to be. It took the time it was supposed to take.

And even though it’s a mystery, there really is no place like home! ;)

*favorite books on writing I’ve read (or reread) within the past five years include anything written by James Scott Bell, with The Art of War for Writers as my favorite of his, Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, On Writing by Stephen King, Write Away by Elizabeth George, and Techniques for the Selling Writer by Dwight V. Swain
**photos by flickr

Irene's Messy Scene and Sarah's News

2011-08-31T03:48:00.000-07:00

That blustery Irene left us without power for three days, made my computer go wackadoo, and altered my children's start date for school. However, I'm ecstatic to make a mega announcement this Friday (Wendy style).

Have you heard Sarah Forgrave's good news? Check it out!

Meet you back here Friday.

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-08-26T03:57:00.000-07:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Ch ch ch changes…August is going to be a month about change for your Moving Thoughts Friday questions.

What silence changed you?

*photos by flickr
**Am loving the interaction so far on my new Facebook writer page. Please come join the conversation!

Why I’m a Cross Between Skeeter and Celia Foote

2011-08-24T04:27:00.000-07:00

On this I 8 Wednesday, I’m exploring how I am like two characters from The Help. If you haven’t read the book or seen the movie, here’s one more reason why you should! (I’ll try not to include any spoilers.)

My Skeeter Side:

Like Skeeter, I want my stories to have impact. And with every story I listen to (I mean really listen to) or read, I feel mentally charged, emotionally engaged, and spiritually motivated. Stories light me up.

Skeeter and I are risk takers.

I smiled while watching Skeeter’s refusal to go along with the crowd. I’m also unafraid to stand on my own when necessary.

I’m all about driving a truck, having messy hair, standing up for a cause, calling a spade a spade, and persevering beyond what others might deem normal. I push past limits.

My Celia Foote Side:

I’ve been blatantly rejected from groups. I’ve been caught in the seeking approval net more than once.

I’ve experienced similar heart wrenching losses.

I’m full of energy and it doesn’t take a lot to excite me. Counting Crows sing lyrics that I’m sure Celia and I could both easily identify with: “She has trouble acting normal when she’s nervous.” And “She knows she’s more than just a little misunderstood.”

I love to give back. Once someone climbs in my heart, they stay. If you’ve ever taught me, poured into me, or loved me, I thrive on finding ways to return all that’s been given.

Have you read the book? Seen the movie? The casting for the movie was exceptional and an enormous success because of how relatable the characters were. Do you identify closely with any one character? (If you write Hilly, I’ll quote Tom Petty, “Don’t come around here no more.”)

*photo by flickr

Fool’s Gold for Writers

2011-08-22T04:25:00.000-07:00

The Longing

Your stomach grumbles with thunderous intensity. You slip on your good shoes, the rubber boots that will protect your feet from wading in the water for hours. Fully prepared to put in your time, you grab all the necessary sifting supplies, and you prepare yourself by keeping your expectations low and your perception sharp.
~~
Your mind churns for the story. Prepared to put in your time at the computer, you gather coffee, your notebook of character sketches, and Donald Maass’ Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook. You keep your expectations for word count low and your intimacy with your plot and characters strong.

The Hunt
You stand in the sun scanning the shimmery river for that certain glint. Your back aches and you feel as though you could snap in two like flimsy kindling broken for a fire. You select rocks with speckles of shine on them and throw them back, disappointed, but determined to keep looking. The skin on your fingers ripples with water-worn wrinkles as you roll small stones between the pads of your thumb and forefinger.
~~
You invest. You sacrifice. You weed through edits with fierce tenacity, keeping only the shining; only parts that move the plot along fluidly. All else gets thrown back. You rejoice and hurt in response to the highs and lows the industry sends your way. Your hunger remains.

The Find
Dirt crams at the base of your fingernails. You yawn and stretch, ready to stop for the day, perhaps ready to give up altogether. Then your eyes blink double time. They snatch upon a gold-flecked rock beneath the teasing trickling water. You reach down and lift it slowly. At closer glance, you’re sure you’ve found it. No more looking. No more hard work. Toss the boots in the trash. Give away all your sifting supplies. This is it. A fat sun-speckled rock heavy in your hand. It’s what you hunted for. It’s all you thought you wanted. The search is over.
~~
You dream in edits. Worn thin from macro and micro edits, tired from deadlines, the hunt no longer draws you. And then the call. The agent. The publishing house. You see your cover. You hold your book in your hands. This is it, you tell yourself with a twisted feeling nesting in your gut. It’s why you worked so hard. It’s all you thought you wanted. The search is over.

But it’s fool’s gold. In your hand.

Yes, having a novel published is an incredible achievement (I don’t speak from experience on this...yet). Yes, you should celebrate and feel grateful for all you’ve invested and delight at the feel of your book in your hands.

But no, publication will not (not now or ever) define your worth.

The gold, the real gold comes in what you learned while you sifted (and while you keep sifting even after publication). Gold is found in how you choose to dedicate your time putting on those rubber boots wading in the water out of sheer hunger, learning to enjoy your calling. You’re holding onto pure gold when you understand that your worth doesn’t come from being published, but from the process. From getting your hands dirty. Worth isn’t so much about what you might find, but about who you become in the course of that discovery. Your worth was already defined by the living water.

You are more than pyrite, more than a flash in the pan.

All this time you’ve been searching for gold and you, you’re the gold.

*listened to Refiner’s Fire while writing this post
**photos by flickr

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-08-19T04:11:00.000-07:00

Ch ch ch changes...August is going to be a month about change for your Moving Thoughts Friday questions.

I want to know...

What word(s) changed you?

*photos by flickr

My Mom

2011-08-15T04:11:00.000-07:00

"My mother...she is beautiful, softened at the edges and tempered with a spine of steel. I want to grow old and be like her." Jodi Picoult

Meet you back here Friday for one of my favorite Moving Thoughts Friday questions this month!

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-08-12T03:45:00.000-07:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Ch ch ch changes…August is going to be a month about change for your Moving Thoughts Friday questions.

Next up…

What decision changed you?

*photos by flickr

*hello to the new readers!

Confessions of a Tent-dweller

2011-08-10T03:58:00.000-07:00

Confession time.

I have a hard time asking for or accepting help. The reverse is true, too. When I feel like other people are imposing on or taking advantage of me (or someone I care about), I become inwardly, secretly critical.

Last weekend, our church went to the Flying H Ranch to serve. We painted part of a building and cut firewood, amid the beauty of a brown-and-gold canyon through which the Naches River runs. The Flying H has a wonderful campground. Several families from our church brought RVs. We set up our humble six-person tent, in which we stuff our seven-person family.

At lunchtime, the sandwiches I’d put in the cooler that morning looked rather limp. My older kids wandered away to their friends’ RV, which was spacious and cool and boasted a stove. Their friends’ mom offered them hotdogs. Limp sandwiches or hot dogs? Of course, hot dogs.

After our work was done for the day, my father-in-law had a great idea. Why not drive up the road and see the view of Mt. Rainier? We weren’t far. My husband asked our friends if our three big kids could stay behind and play.

I envisioned us driving up the road twenty minutes to see this view. I gave them a confident, “We won’t be long!” as I climbed in our minivan.

TWO HOURS LATER, when we finally straggled back to the campground, dinner was in full swing. Not only had we not helped prepare it, but our kids had already been fed. #momfail

The next morning, after a hot, lumpy night in the tent, I hauled a Ziploc of blueberry muffins from the cooler only to hear a chorus of “Is this all there is for breakfast?”

My ten-year-old daughter then announced she wanted an RV for Christmas.

One of our RV friends kindly offered to cook pancakes, which of course my children accepted. By this time my pride was mangled. There was no way I could compete with the RV group. I was helplessly accepting assistance right and left.

I kept thinking of how I would judge myself if I were in my friends’ shoes: “Why did she come on this trip if she wasn’t planning to take care of her own family?”

But nobody seemed judgmental. If anyone was critical, it was me of myself.

That’s when it hit me like a baseball to the eye: life is not a level playing field. Some of us have tents, some RVs. This is not competition, this is community.

We had our church service on Sunday at the campsite. My father-in-law – who had slept in his car overnight – summed it up nicely when he prayed, “Thank you for those who came on this trip well-prepared, who graciously shared with those of us who came with empty cups.”

Yep, I was the one with the empty cup. Next time I’ll remember what it’s like to be a tent-dweller, drop the critical attitude, and put on grace instead.

A.L. Sonnichsen enjoys writing YA novels and literary short stories when she's not feeding, clothing and nurturing her five children -- or taking off for the day to gaze at Mt. Rainier. She lives in a small town on the sunny side of Washington State and writes about life, books and avoiding housework on her blog, The Green Bathtub.

*A.L. is one of those women I just click with. I’m so grateful you brought it with this guest post, Amy. Thank you for being such a generous & cool guest!

Tying My Own Dang Shoes

2011-08-08T04:16:00.000-07:00

Remember how frustrating it was learning to tie your shoelaces? I remember and liken it to learning to write better.

There are those who’ll simply tie your shoes for you. They’ll crunch down until you hear their knees crack and they’ll slip loops together, making it look seamless and easy. We’ll call these people editors.

There are those willing to show you how to tie your shoes even if it takes over a hundred tries. They model the action for you, hands busy with their own shoeslaces, hoping you’ll snag the appropriate steps as you witness. We’ll call this group mentors or authors of excellent books you’ve read.

Then there’s Velcro (or slip on shoes). The cop out. I don’t want to settle for Velcro. I’m not much of the formulaic, do it like she does it kind of writer. We’ll call this becoming an imitation writer.

When it came time for me to learn how to tie my shoes I studied, I concentrated…and I practiced. (And as with tying my shoeslaces, I did (and still do) my share of flubbing. I end up with floppy strings more than I care to admit.)

I’m a hands on learner. I can be reading six books at once, and though I happen to believe reading is an essential tool to help develop stronger writing skills, it’s actually sitting down to write that incites the most improvement. I’m in the 'I want to tie my own dang shoes' camp.

And now I’m all about the double knot.

What shoelace tying camp are you in? Do you see value in studying how others improve while establishing your own shoe tying groove?

*photo by flickr

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-08-05T03:44:00.000-07:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Ch ch ch changes…August is going to be a month all about change for your Moving Thoughts Friday questions.

Starting with…

What book changed you?

*photos by flickr
**Am loving the dialogue so far on my new Facebook writer page. Please come join the conversation!

Who Are My Characters

2011-08-03T03:44:00.000-07:00

On this I 8 Wednesday, I say we have a little fun. Time for fun having.

Every so often I get to wondering where my characters come from. I mean, are they part of me, part of you, or are they strictly figments of my imagination?

Today I’m listing 8 possible explanations for who my characters are (and at the end of this post I’m asking you to play…tell me who you think my characters are and, if you write fiction, who your characters are).

1. My characters are really layers of myself at various ages.
2. They’re you.
3. My characters are strangers I study.
4. My main, secondary, and extra peripheral characters are loved ones.
5. Figments, purely figments of that James and the Giant Peach imagination.
6. Characters = split personalities (ha!).
7. Real entities in their own right as fiction people (imaginary friends per say).
8. A swell mixture of all of the above (this is like option D on any scantron test in school).

This was a fun post to write. In fact, I’m laughing even as I type. So play. Throw out your guesses. No cheating by looking over a friend’s shoulder. Who are my characters? Any explanations I didn’t mention? Who are your characters?

Your ball…

*photo by flickr

Stranger on a Plane Phenomenon

2011-08-01T04:16:00.000-07:00

Who are you online?

I’m beginning to wonder if we all don’t have an online persona, sort of like we have an ‘I’m going to a party’ persona that’s unique from our ‘tucking our kids into bed’ persona.

I’ve thought a lot about Internet accountability lately. It’s so easy for someone to spew a comment resembling cat vomit and decide never return to the blog they commented on again. It reminds me of the whole stranger on a plane phenomenon. You can become anyone for a two hour plane ride. You can invent a dynamo alias. And none would be the wiser.

But is that wise?

Words, no matter where they’re shared, are potent. And there are ways to track comments and the verbal trail. This world can indeed be a small world when it comes to online interactions.

We are more than strangers on a plane. Or another way to put it…the world = one gigantic plane.

I’ve found in some respects I portray my truer feelings online, my layered self.

This makes sense. Writing has always been able to draw me out, tugging me from my introverted (yes, I wrote introverted…go figure) shell.

I’m at home here.

Are you? And do you feel like you online? Have you noticed evidence of the stranger on a plane phenomenon?

*I’m honored the lovely Keli Gwyn chose to feature me on her Writers on the Journey blog today (afternoon). Please swing by to say hello. I’m vulnerable, candid, and the same me you’ve encountered elsewhere online.
**photo by flickr

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-07-29T04:17:00.000-07:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Idiom day (that’s idiom, not idiot)

Seek greener pastures or weather the storm?

*photos by flickr
**Am loving the dialogue so far on my new Facebook writer page. Please come join the conversation!

Breaking Bones for Laughs

2011-07-27T04:06:00.000-07:00

On this I 8 Wednesday, I intend to explore the mystery behind dedication. The other night my husband and I caught some of a documentary on comedians through the ages. One sentence jumped out at me. A silent-film, slapstick comedian (Jack Benny, I believe it was, but don’t quote me on this) claimed to have broken every bone in his body while at work.

Now that’s what I call dedication. It made me think about our culture and whether that spirit of hard work and sheer persistence exists anymore.

And then I thought…maybe that’s a good thing. Is there such a thing as overly dedicated?

So I started asking myself questions and as you well know if you’ve visited here more than, say, once, I’m about to turn those questions back on you…

Here are eight questions to ponder about dedication:

Do you have more respect for others if there’s a cost accrued with their dedication?

As writers, we’re often yammering about retreating into our caves and putting our noses to the grindstone, as well as other similar unappealing descriptors for how we go about our work. Do you ever feel pressured to construct a battle-charge answer for how things are going? (Are you afraid if you’re having fun, it means you’re not working hard enough?)

If writing comes naturally to someone, do you automatically assume they aren’t working as diligently to hone their craft as one who devotes large quantities of time soaking up how to improve?

What causes you to lose your commitment to dedication?

Are you secretly proud sharing all you’ve had to sacrifice in your current field in order to gain strides (i.e. loss of time with family, abstaining from TV or girls night out)?

How would you define dedication?

Do the ends justify the means when it comes to all you’re pouring in?

What would motivate you to become so dedicated to something you’d actually break every bone in your body?

Answer any or all of the above. I might do an I 8 Wed. break-out for these like I’ve done in the past. I’m playing with that idea.

*I also read somewhere Jackie Chan has broken more bones than his age. Don’t know if this is true either, but I’ve seen some of his movies and I’d bet on it.
**photo by flickr

I'm ecstatic about the support I’ve received so far on my new Facebook writer page. Please come join the conversation!

My Thoughts Moved—Why I Now Have a Writer Page on FB

2011-07-25T04:01:00.000-07:00

For the longest time I wasn’t sure what I thought about not yet published (as in unpublished novels, not works in general) writers creating fan pages. I battled with it. I “liked” my friends who went out on a limb with it, while scratching my head thinking that would not be me.

Guess what?

I went there. I did that.

I have a Facebook writer page. Oh yeah. Uh-huh. You betcha!

Now here’s what made my thoughts move:

This industry is exploding. Social presence is huge. I’ve kept in close contact with good writer friends who’ve encouraged decisions like this along the way. Kristen Lamb is all over this in her book, We Are Not Alone. Still, I hesitated. I let a litany of excuses flow off my tongue. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel comfortable. But that’s it right there, folks. Sometimes we’ll be called to do things that don’t feel comfortable. (Anyone ever been prompted to say sorry after a fight? How “comfortable” did that feel?)

But now that I’ve made the decision and pulled that Facebook writer page trigger, ironically, it’s feeling more right. I finally figured out what my biggest hang up was—the word “fan” page. See, as a writer words are important to me. (I had a similar hang up with the word “friend” when I first joined FB.) But once I adjusted my perception and understood it as creating a writer page, it held so much more appeal.

I want friends and family to know what I’m passionate about. I want them to have easy access to my works and to be in the know about what I pour my energy into.

I also want to connect with fellow writers and interested readers. The Facebook page is a great way to do this. So, sign me up Scottie. (Never mind, Scottie…I’m already signed up.) Besides, I’ve been mysteriously away from Facebook for too long. It’s time to make a comeback.

I dove in. My thoughts moved.

I went on a limb. Now, don’t leave me hanging…

I’d love it if you “like” me!

Here's the link

Why have you, or haven’t you created a Facebook “fan” page?

*if I haven’t followed your page yet, it’s likely your request got thrown into some hidden Facebook tunnel I’ve had trouble opening. Kindly send me a new request, and I’m all over it.
**If you have trouble finding the page (I need 25 “likes” before it becomes an official page) you can look for Writer, Wendy Paine Miller on FB

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-07-22T04:16:00.000-07:00

Recently Rosslyn Elliott commented on my post, I Am Not Cut out for This.

Here’s what she wrote: A writer friend of mine made a great distinction the other day: "it's not whether you can do it--the question is, on what terms?" The world will always try to push us away from our real calling and our real joy. Sometimes it will do so with "failure." More often, it will do so with "success." We have to be strong and discerning to understand where the world stops and our souls begin.

I kept sifting Rosslyn’s comment in my brain. Profound to the nth degree. What do you glean from her comment?

*photos by flickr

Four Unusual but Effective Business Practices

2011-07-20T04:08:00.000-07:00

We could all stand to learn more when it comes to paving our way, no matter what industry we are paving in. Here are some tried and true tips I’ve litmus tested time and time again. They hold weight. Try ‘em and see.

Buy a Mood Ring
I don’t actually buy into the whole mood ring bit, but I do believe there’s value in paying attention to whether you’re having a red hot day or a blue afternoon. Watch your moods. Make cognizant and wise decisions to abstain from sending that life-altering email when you’re fighting the moody blues. When you’re singing the lyrics to “What a Wonderful World”, you might find that’s the best time to reach out and connect. Your positive attitude will rub off on others and you’ll probably encourage people along the way.

Remember to strike when the iron’s hot and sit on it when the iron’s not.

(I’m at my best when I’m hopped up on caffeine. It makes me extra nice and bold. Not even kidding on this one.)

Play Expectation Limbo
Expect more from yourself and less from others. It’s not fancy math I’m talking about here. Push yourself. Build upon your dreams. Work hard for them, but don’t be waiting with an irritating sense of entitlement for anyone else to be yanking up your bootstraps. Read this link for more about expectation limbo.

Sinking Sand Sinks—Call out for Help
Be aware of your surroundings. Know when you’ve reached your limit. And call upon friends and trusted loved ones when you find yourself going under. This one is huge. We all have times of weakness and vulnerability. It’s part of being human. But it’s those who learn to temporarily lean on help that rise to the surface. Be honest with yourself. Are you in over your head? Do you need a break? Sinking sand sinks. You can’t bring your best if you’re sliding too far below ground level to even bring yourself.

Use Your Friends
Not literally of course. I’m a strong advocate of mutually beneficial friendships. What I’m talking about here is making connections. If you’re in the same industry, it’s really as though you’re part of one giant family. If your friend clicks with someone, it’s likely you will click with that person, too. Reach out. Connect. Broaden your network. It’s a big playground. I love to share my friends. In fact, it excites me to introduce two writers I think will get along well.

No big deal if the connection doesn’t gel. Not everyone will like you. Learning this took a lot of pressure off me. But friends can be excellent resources with valuable insight, and an abundance of contacts just waiting for you to make the first move.

Have you tried any of the above with success? Know of any other potential unusual, but effective business practices?

*photo by flickr

Conversation with a Contortionist

2011-07-18T04:18:00.000-07:00

Everyone has a story. I know that. You know that, right? But only some stories are meant to become memoirs. Only some stories are so compelling you’re captivated by the smallest details, gripped by the evidence of trial and survival found in the slowed beats and pauses as the teller tells.

After spending a week with my husband’s family, we finished off our vacation with a refreshing stop in Pennsylvania. Steve’s aunt hosted us to help break up our long car ride. His aunt has been caring for her eighty-six-year-old mother, who has endured eleven years on dialysis.

After we settled the kids down for the night, I lifted the books I was reading and debated which one I was in the mood for. Little did I know I had a better story coming.

At first glance Steve’s aunt’s mother looks like an ordinary elderly woman in a wheelchair with a taut French braid weaving together what’s left of her gray hair.

Ordinary. But then she began to share.

And once I began listening, I mean truly listening to her story, I understood immediately I was not in the presence of an ordinary woman. As she revealed glimpse after glimpse of her life, I felt her extraordinary tale seeping into my conscience. I saw scenes of her life as though I were reading them in a page-turner novel.

Let me start where it started with her. From age three, Atta (we’ll call her for the privacy purposes) remembers practicing her contortionist moves under the stern instruction of her Native American Chief father who ran all the business affairs of their traveling circus. She provided the sole income for her family as they frequently picked up and relocated. Atta performed for Haitian dignitaries and bent her body in innumerable positions in order for her family to eat during the Depression.

She has distinct and terrifying memories of canoeing in the Amazon as a threatening anaconda surfaced near her flimsy boat. Atta also recalls how her father used her stepmother and sister as part of his act, placing an apple at their throats and chopping down with a violent strike, amazing the sparse crowds, sending shivers through her.

I asked my questions loudly because Atta is hard of hearing. Locked into her story, her appearance gradually changed before me. She went from intervals of focusing in on me with heated concentration to drifting, letting her eyes roam the scores of the Pirates game. The vision I had of her with a flesh-colored hearing aide shaped like a seashell and her moccasin slippers melded into her from ages five to twenty-one being led around with questionable circus folk. Eventually her family brought the show business (as she called it) to St. Louis and Illinois. As the sky darkened and fireflies lit up the night her stories continued.

I dared not interrupt, dared not even swallow for fear of missing something. Stories like this don’t come around every day. What I was hearing was Water for Elephants and then some. The experience equated to crack for a writer and an avid reader. I saw her story. Saw myself reading her pages. Her life. A story waiting to be told.

I did what I could to encourage Atta to continue the telling and to encourage my husband’s aunt to keep recording. I felt as though I graced the presence of a living memoir. Graced it. Grazed it.

And it gripped my heart.

So much so I quoted one of my favorite lines from Little Bee to our gracious hostesses. “We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form in the dying. A scar means, I survived.”

Ever have a conversation where you were certain you were interacting with a phenomenal memoir or story waiting to be written?

*I verified that I had permission to write about Atta, though I changed her name. You’d have to have been emotionally blind not to notice the years of pain layered in her story. While Steve’s aunt Okayed my writing this post, I felt it wise to change her name.
**the child in the picture is not Atta, but there are three black and white pictures in one of the upstairs bedrooms of Steve’s aunt’s home that portray Atta is similar poses.

***photo by flickr

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-07-08T04:38:00.000-07:00

Coke or Pepsi?

*I’m going to be offline for the better part of next week except my Alley post next Thurs.

**photos by flickr

I Am Not Cut Out for This

2011-07-06T04:36:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel I’m not cut out for this…parenting, writing, fervently pursuing my passion…life in general.
But then I remember that I have something special to offer. We all have something special to offer. I then think I may not be cut out for that, but am I cut out like this…

Not so sure. Even when comes to pretty snowflakes, even in all their individual glory, I’m not sure I’m cut out that way.

So I sit some more and think some more. And I pray. And wonder. Then I think some more. And I write and love on my kids in between all that thinking, wondering, and praying and finally I come to the conclusion I may not be cut out for this or cut out like that, but I am created for a reason and I live with purpose. And this comes to mind….I am cut out for this…
What are you cut out for or like?

*photos by flickr
**working on something new & cool at the same time as something old & cool. Excited to share soon.

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-07-01T04:23:00.000-07:00

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Righteous anger or no anger?

*photos by flickr

LOVE Fairer than Morning by Rosslyn Elliott

2011-06-29T04:26:00.000-07:00

You’ll not often catch me reading inspirational historical fiction. But I’ve found one I’d read again. And again. Rosslyn Elliott crafts a beautiful and compelling story with her debut, Fairer than Morning.

Will Hanby and Ann Miller are two young people haunted by the past who seek love and freedom as they assist fugitives on the Underground Railroad. Based on the true story of the Hanby family of Westerville, Ohio, Rosslyn masterfully entices readers to get swept up in the adventures of a saddle-maker’s daughter and his future apprentice. I clenched reading about the abuse Will suffers and delighted in wondering about Ann’s romantic pursuits.

Rosslyn’s command of historical details combined with a solidly entertaining plot, and engaging characters results in a memorable, can’t-put-it-down novel.

I was moved to tears (it’s not often a book is able to make me cry) while reading the message of forgiveness. There are scenes in this book I don’t doubt will come to mind when I face the decision of whether or not to forgive someone.

Rosslyn impressed me beyond words with this well-told story. I can’t wait to read more of her work.

Rosslyn's website
Rosslyn's blog

*I was given this book to do any ole’ thing I wanted with it. How could I not give a review when a book stirs me like this one did?
**check out what Rosslyn shared about wanting your novels to change the world when she visited my blog last year

Gypsy Moths & Birch Trees

2011-06-27T04:13:00.000-07:00

I got realigned this weekend. Hiking. Climbing up the side of a gorge. Camping. A sharp pine scent filled my lungs with every inhale. Spoiled with sights that took my breath away, moment by moment, I returned to myself. I encountered a homecoming of the soul. Scent by scent. Sight by sight.

Priorities realigned. Worries rushed down, crashing against the rocks, slipping entirely out of view. When I studied the waterfalls we hiked to, I wasn’t focused on where the water went, but instead my eyes gravitated to the top.

Last week I asked you when you first fell in love with learning. (I still love reading every single one of your comments.) During my time away, I realized my answer to that question and it may surprise you. It surprised me.

My love affair with learning didn’t start in a classroom or due to a teacher’s investment in me (not a formal teacher anyway), it began with my dad. Whenever we were outside, my dad made a point to educate me about my surroundings and I soaked in every word. He explained the mysterious gauzy white ornaments on the trees and called them gypsy moths. He named the white trees birch. He had me breathe in skunk cabbage and pine, while modeling how to delight in the aroma of wet leaves. And I simply couldn’t get enough of it. I still can’t.

Being outdoors, in unscathed natural surroundings, flushed out so much of what crowds my mind on any given day. I returned to me.

Realigned, sharing my knowledge of the outdoors with my own children.

Ready to let that cleansing fuel me. Ready to have the “woods me” inspire the "me" at home.

Does time in the outdoors clear out the cobwebs for you like it does for me?

Moving Thoughts Friday (on Wednesday)

2011-06-22T04:12:00.000-07:00

I’m going to be offline until early next week. And now for your moving thoughts question a few days early…

Every Friday (or Wednesday in this case) I’m going to ask a question. The questions I choose might be ambiguous on purpose. The goal is to have you answer the question according to your beliefs, where you’re at in life or a circumstance that might have recently impacted you. The only thing I ask is that you provide an explanation for why you answered the way you did.

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

When is the first time you remember falling in love with learning?

*photos by flickr

Sarcasm under the Microscope

2011-06-20T04:11:00.000-07:00

I’m trying to figure out what I think about sarcasm. Maybe you can help.

I admit, I’m a confessed sarcasm user. I use the innocent kind, not the stabbing, wounding kind born of deep-seated insecurities. Or is the kind I use all that innocent? Here’s where I’m stuck.

Is all sarcasm bad?

I have a tendency to paint just about any situation with a touch of humor. When I throw out a sarcastic comment on Twitter, let’s say, or here on the blog, I express it not in a mean, stick it to you way, but rather a playful, let’s see if you can tell I’m joking way.

But intentions and delivery often end up getting tangled. (Isn’t this true with so many things in life?)

So, here’s my question to you, can you tell when I’m joking?

Humor has become my default. Humor and would you believe it…silence? This is what I resort to when I’m feeling deeply. Fear. Anxiety. Shame. If any of those feelings are jabbing at me as intensely as a magician stabbing knives at the lady in the box, then I’m finding a way to laugh my way out of that box.

Some of this is human nature. A mental form of flight from the fight or flight reflex. A defense mechanism. Call it what you will, but I have to believe most of my sarcasm stems from a pure desire to instigate laughter.

Here’s where the word gets really sticky. I’m a highly sensitive individual so it’s often I can dish it out, but I can’t always take it. (Especially during a certain time of month…yeah hormones!) Oh, I put on a happy face and give my best courtesy laugh. But inside I’m shredded more than any Frosted Mini Wheat. Torn up. Usually this is in response to the ugly kind of sarcasm. But you’d be amazed. The mean kind and the “innocent” kind are like the similar coral and scarlet snakes. One is poisonous, one isn’t.

But they’re both snakes.

Help me out here…is all sarcasm bad?

*photos by flickr

Moving Thoughts Friday

2011-06-17T03:35:00.000-07:00

Every Friday I’m going to ask a question. The questions I choose might be ambiguous on purpose. The goal is to have you answer the question according to your beliefs, where you’re at in life or a circumstance that might have recently impacted you. The only thing I ask is that you provide an explanation for why you answered the way you did.

It’s my hope to understand you better through this and also to gain a greater understanding of humanity and how people make decisions.

Do you have a place you go…where everybody knows your name?

*Earlier this week I read Erica Vetsch’s answer here. You guys are getting good…answering these questions before I even get a chance to ask them. ;)

Broken Wings by Carla Stewart

2011-06-15T04:12:00.000-07:00

The Blurb: Onstage, the singing duo of Gabe and Mitzi Steiner captured America’s heart for more than two decades. Offstage, their own hearts have throbbed as one for sixty years. Only now, Gabe has retreated into the tangles of Alzheimer’s leaving Mitzi to ponder her future alone.

Everyone believes Brooke Woodson has found the perfect man—a handsome attorney with sights on becoming Tulsa’s next District Attorney. If only Brooke felt more sure. If only her fiancé could control his rage. If only her last chance at love didn’t come with so many scars.

Brooke and Mitzi’s story is one of an unlikely friendship birthed by providence and bathed in grace as the two women face difficult transitions arm in arm.

The Review: Earlier this week, my dear friend told me she’s moving. You might be thinking what in the world does this have to do with my review of Broken Wings. Did you really think I’d leave you hanging?

The beautiful friendship that buds between Mitzi and Brooke in Broken Wings is not the kind that presents itself often. In the wake of my friend’s news, I’ve been reflecting on the treasured bond between Mitzi and Brooke and how skillfully Carla writes characters. Carla captures an emotional depth with characters as though she’s climbed inside their shoes and walked around for a lifetime.

Carla also remarkably tackles sensitive issues like abuse and Alzheimer’s with clever grace. I appreciate how Carla’s books have an overlapping appeal for both the Christian and mainstream reader.

It takes a powerful book and a talented author to inspire me to root for the characters while reading and reflect on their friendship weeks after I’ve read it.

Cheers for Carla Stewart’s Broken Wings.

I was honored to have Carla visit my blog a few months ago.
To learn more about Carla, visit her website.

*I was given a complimentary copy of this book (Carla’s cool like that).